Tangled Up in Blue
by Priah
Summary: A new terror plagues the wizarding world, making life a nightmare for the unlucky women it terrorizes. With Draco's help, Hermione has finally escaped this life and now wants desperately to live happily. So desperately that she will do whatever it takes.
1. Default Chapter

A few weeks ago, this story was taken down from due to "obscene content" that did not "correspond to rating". So, I'm putting it back up for the sake of my readers and taking out anything that could be considered "obscene". The original will appear in all its glory at http:tangledupinblue. I'm sorry, for all this. I hope you still enjoy the story. I haven't done any editing, so it's still not the picture of perfection

-

Chapter One: Elastic

Hermione Granger, also known as number three twenty nine, kept a tight line to her lips while carrying a silver platter hot enough to fry an egg on. As she had come to do so very often, Hermione glanced about the hall she strolled down, trying with all in her to remember a time when it hadn't been like this. To remember when these tall stone walls belonged to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school prized for its desegregation. Recalling the days when her only cares were school and mischief; where books brought her joy, and she took pleasure in chaste kisses.

o-o-o-o-o

I look back to find my way

And reminisce nice about the good old days

o-o-o-o-o

Those days were long gone. She was now twenty-three, and the property of another individual. Hogwarts was a term one used if and only if they wished to be slain. Any mention of the past was granted forty lashings with a dragon-leather whip, soaked in salt, or a caning with a bamboo rod, imported just for this purpose, depending on the extent of crime.

Unfortunately for Hermione, she talked in her sleep.

o-o-o-o-o

When you dream you hit bottom

Chances are good you're gonna wake up dead

o-o-o-o-o

It seemed her subconscious could not keep her thoughts to itself. It was like a gossiper, spreading evil and sometimes untrue accusations to unworthy ears. The guards told to watch over her unit as they slept had more than once reported her and she had a good few whip marks on her lower back to prove it.

It had been a good six years ago that her last happy memory was dated. Then, there had been a war. It wasn't surprising; no one expected Voldemort to simply give up. The outcome of this conflict, however, was completely unanticipated.

The attack was spontaneous; one random day, one random ambush. Hermione remembered it as if it were yesterday; she had been sitting in Transfiguration, rolling her eyes at Harry as he groaned over their test the following Tuesday, when a scream was heard. This was soon followed by another and another... coupled with the all too familiar buzz of a hundred simultaneous curses.

With a cold sneer at her own mind, Hermione recalled liking the situation to Professor Mauriz's favorite end-of-term wind down activities. At the end of second term, just a day before leaving for Christmas, Professor Mauriz, this year's DADA teacher, had let all hell break loose and given the children permission to hex each other, provided it was all in good fun. Turning into a chicken, a purple nose, a finger growing from your chin and anything that would make those around you laugh. It was all completely harmless, and Hermione admitted to taking part. She happened to think Ron and Harry looked good with fused foreheads. Her peers seemed to think the same.

Although her heart wanted to jerk at the thought of her friends, Hermione restrained herself. She wasn't allowed to feel emotion. That was the sort of thing that would get you a caning. A mistake like that could loose you your life. Truth be told, however, it was debatable whether or not this was a bad conclusion.

o-o-o-o-o

If the rest of my life is gonna be like this

I think I'd rather die

o-o-o-o-o

Returning her train of thought back to the station, Hermione again recalled the screams and buzzing. It was completely likable to Professor Mauriz's sessions, which gained him morale and covered his back.

When the reality of events was realized among the students, chaos ensued. Teachers gave up quickly on getting everyone to remain calm and asking students to return to their common rooms; no one seemed to want to listen to reason. The Professors did not abandon the students; they simply forged into battle. It was unexpected that the students would follow.

Evidently, the adolescents needed leadership, but at the same time refused to be led. Therefore, they resorted to screaming until the teacher left the room, and chasing after quickly.

It was no more than ten minutes after the first scream was heard that the entire student body was crammed into the lobby and great hall, terrified and trying without luck to fight off the multitude of death eaters.

However unexpected, all played out relatively as if it were planned. A few students were lost in transition, but Harry defeated Voldemort, the deatheaters dissolved into thin air, Dumbledore gave a great laugh and announced that everything was bloody wonderful...

And, of course, Mauriz spun on his heel and sent a blinding green light right into Dumbledore's chest.

o-o-o-o-o

I will be up on top

When the sky falls down

And it all goes wrong again

o-o-o-o-o

Hermione, to this day, was not sure if he had meant to hit the professor or if he were aiming for Harry, who was tucked beneath a withered arm. Both student and teacher were thrown backward, and Hermione had specifically remembered herself chanting "Oh god, Harry!" without any such regard to her professor. And, she recalled a warm wash of relief as Harry stood from the accident, prying a lifeless white hand from his shoulder. It was not until she ran into his arms that she realized the reality behind the events of second's prior. Harry held her to him as if she were his one last breath, but his eyes were trained on his traitor of a professor. The entire hall was bathed in silence, every eye staring at Mauriz, who simply smirked and twirled his wand. He milked the situation for all it was worth, then threw his head backward and uttered a horrendous cackle, which caused the hunched Hermione to flinch.

Without warning, Mauriz stopped his laughter and sent a long, eloquent chant across the room. Gasps were heard as wands burst into flame, melted, or simply flickered into nothing. An entire room, defenseless at the hand of a madman. A few first years ran for the door, hoping against all hope that they might escape alive, but Mauriz was too clever for that. He snapped his fingers and the doors slammed shut.

"Do you think me a fool, comrades?" he called into the silence, secretly proud of the mass of flinches he received for his efforts. He laughed coldly. "I assure you, you are very much mistaken."

"Why are you doing this, Mauriz?" Harry called out, clutching Hermione closer as she squeezed him, and acting as negotiator. "What do you want from us?"

"Well, well... Mr. Potter. One of my best students... and yet... you couldn't stop me. Didn't even see through my guise, did you? Some asset you are to the light side... but, then again, I suppose you were, weren't you? You've defeated my rival, Mr. Riddle, and for that, I must thank you... for I could never have even gotten this far with that bastard in the way. Honestly..."

"What do you want, Mauriz?" Harry repeated, more sternly. Hermione whispered his name, as if coaching him on his tone, but Harry paid her no mind. This was how he'd always handled these things, and he wasn't about to change plans simply because it was a mass-murdering madman in front of him and not say... Malfoy. Mauriz had simply shaken his head.

"Harry... Harry..." he chanted, then looked up. "All I want from you, dear boy... is your woman," Mauriz said simply, as if it were not much to ask. Harry turned slightly, so that he was somewhat more in front of Hermione, and had to look over his shoulder to face his addresser.

"Over my dead body," Harry voiced, sure as the sun no one would ever touch his Hermione. They may not have had an official relationship, but there was a mutual bond between them. They had feelings for each other and they both knew it. Ron knew it; everyone knew it. Mauriz chuckled once more, making Harry's eye twitch. Oh, how he hated that laugh.

"Don't worry, Potter... I planned to kill you anyway. You are much too big a threat to keep around. As for the rest of you..." the professor started, spinning as to view all his captives. "Some of you shall live... and others... won't be so lucky."

"Tell me what you want, Mauriz!" Harry exclaimed, voice sharp as a thousand tacks. Mauriz smiled as he turned back to their new leader. With Dumbledore stiff on the floor, Harry had taken it upon himself. For this, Mauriz was quite thrilled.

"If you had any brain within you at all, boy, you would have guessed by now what I want. I want the same thing you did... the same thing Riddle did. I want the world, and I want to do with it what I wish."

Harry gave a cold nod, as if in agreement, and Hermione began to tremble.

"And what," he said, gulping, "Do you wish?"

"So glad you asked, Mr. Potter..." Mauriz boomed, grinning wickedly. "Imagine, if you will..." he began, "A world filled with only the beautiful... where each man can choose from a thousand wives... and each woman holds no purpose but to please he who chose her. Where the source of your blood means nothing, but the quality means life or death... take example... your mudblood." Again, Harry stepped into a more protective stance. Mauriz simply seemed amused. He reached out an arm and, even through Harry's struggles, Hermione had no choice but to float toward him, feet an inch from the ground. She tried to call out, but it was of no use; her free will had been seized. "She may have a tarnished ancestry... but she is a looker, isn't she?" Harry's blood boiled as he was forced to watch in horror as Mauriz forced himself on Hermione and she was forced to accept him with open arms and lips.

"You bastard!" Harry exclaimed, and charged at his former professor. Mauriz broke himself from Hermione and emitted that sinister chuckle once more. Harry was stopped by a force field of some kind, unable to push within ten feet of his captor.

o-o-o-o-o

She says,

Jesus owes her money

She says,

The angels are her friends

o-o-o-o-o

"Patience, Mr. Potter... your time will come. But first, I want you to imagine a few more snippets of the future. First off, we shall start with a bit of cleaning..." Mauriz stated, then swept his wand around the room.

One by one, every man and a good few women fell lifelessly to the floor, then disappeared into a whisper of smoke. Had anyone been paying attention, they would have noticed a trend; those standing were the picture perfect females and those who showed promise of being such in the future. Harry was the only man left, aside from Mauriz.

"You see, Harry, how much better this is? Now that we've weeded out the filth... wouldn't you love to have your pick of these women and know for sure they could not reject you, or anything you ask of them? They could all be yours Harry. I have decided to spare you one last day, with which you can do as you please with... _my_ girls. All you have to do for me is one little thing..." Harry glared.

"You're sick, Mauriz..."

The professor shook his shoulders carelessly.

"Perhaps... but I'm just living out every man's fantasy. You could join me, Harry... and ensure the safety of your precious love."

Harry's eyes flickered to Hermione, and he tried to ignore the fact that she was fawning over the evil wizard who bound her, practically begging for another kiss. Mauriz seemed to quite enjoy this.

"Because you never know, Potter... something... _terrible_ could happen..." he stated, and Harry watched in horror as Hermione dropped to the ground, clutching her abdomen in pain.

"Stop... stop, you're hurting her..." he pleaded, pressing against the force field. Mauriz cackled again and lifted the spell from Hermione, who grinned and stood up again, immediately resuming her fawning.

"Will you join me?" Mauriz prodded, and Harry wasted not a moment before responding.

"Will you promise not to harm Hermione?" he asked, and Mauriz gave a nod.

"All you have to do to prove your loyalty, boy..." he said, "Is set fire to your headmaster."

Harry gasped and spun to view Dumbledore, who was still in his serene spot on the ground, a good ten feet from where he was standing when hit. It didn't take Harry long to turn back, a look of pure hatred embossed on his face.

"You bloody bastard... I would never join you."

"Very well, then. Good day, Mr. Potter," Mauriz said and, before Harry could rebut, he himself burst into a thousand tiny purple sparks. At that precise moment, Hermione was lifted of her curse. She jumped away from Mauriz and let out a shriek of pure panic, running to where Harry (or Harry's body) should have been. She sobbed as the little purple flakes rained down on her. The professor simply smiled. "Come, ladies..."

That was a very long time ago. As calculated, almost six years. A lot had changed since that fateful day; Hogwarts had been built up and filled with supporters of Mauriz, hand picked, of course. The Hogwarts women had been dished out, picked like teams for soccer, and were now boarded up in different sections of the castle, according to their master.

Outside this building, the world was just as superficial. All men, muggle and wizard alike, had been given the choice of either A) Following Mauriz or B) Death. Many refused him on the grounds that they would never cheat on their wives, others accepted out of fear, but, for the most part, the remaining men in the world were pig headed and chauvinistic. Unsurprising, really.

As for the women left, all were beautiful and most bimbos. A few unsightly intellectuals were kept alive, but for the sole benefit of Mauriz. They became the cooks, craft makers, shop-dwellers, and clan mothers. All men lived in the lap of luxury, and all sweet women lived in the lap of their men. They could not be bothered with children.

Motherhood became a punishment. If you stepped out of line, your contraceptives were taken away. Of course, you were still required to please your master. If you didn't play your cards right, you could end up with a baby on the way. All pregnant women were taken from their clans as soon as they began to show and brought to the M.C. Literally, this stood for Maternity Campanile, but in secret it was referred to as Murder Central. Mauriz had created a spell, which would age a child in both body and mind at a rapid speed. It had taken him years, but he had done it. The growth process inside the womb was not altered, however and Hermione believed it was more for the torture of the mother than the well being of the baby.

o-o-o-o-o

You just take your pill, and everything will be alright

o-o-o-o-o

Once the baby was born, the woman was given a week of domestic chores to recuperate (cleaning, cooking... blowjobs), and then forced back into routine. The baby, while its mother returned to a life of hell, was given a month or so in the care of the clan mother, one of the lucky ones too 'unattractive' to be of physical aid. When the child could successfully raise their heads while on the stomach and respond in some way to the dinner bell, they were brought into 'The Chamber'. If the child was a first-born, the mother was permitted to enter the chamber with her baby and watch as Mauriz's infamous spell was administered. Over the course of about an hour, the child would grow from that of an infant, to that of a teenager, approximately thirteen. This new being was given five minutes to 'get to know' their mother (and father on rare occasions) and then was sorted.

Hermione, as she recalled this term, gave a cold chuckle. As terrifying her own experience with 'sorting' was, she couldn't imagine the horror these children must endure. True, they held the brain capacity of an average child of their age group (due to the spell) but it was hardly enough to save them from piecing things together.

If the child was a boy, he was asked that fatal question. Will you or will you not follow the rules of the Leader Mauriz? A no would grant immediate death, and a yes would gain them an inspection of their own; if the boy were diseased, he was cured or killed. There was no sense spreading diseases when they could easily be stopped. After this, the boy was given a week with Mauriz himself to learn the ropes of the new society, and then given living quarters.

If the child were a girl, she would immediately be examined. If she were overweight, unattractive, or diseased, the child was put to death. If otherwise, she was given a number and sent straight to the holding chambers.

o-o-o-o-o

She is perfect in that fucked up way

That all the magazines seem to want to glorify these days

She looks like a teenage anthem

She looks like she could have been happy in another life

o-o-o-o-o

The fate of a NewChild, as the month old baby girls were called after growth, was almost always the same. She would wait in the holding chambers like a doll on display until some man, whose wife had probably just been killed or rejected, happened upon her and decided to wed. If wed the girl was given a steel ring of anything but elegance and engraved with her master's symbol. She could not remove this extremity unless told to do so. Then, she would be kept as a wife either until she was no longer attractive (in which case she would be killed) or until she stepped out of line and was 'rejected'. To be rejected by your master is something few girls had ever been brave enough to do. For this to occur, a woman must do something to either upset their husband or simple cause them to loose interest. Then, the rejected was sent back to the holding chambers to await a new victim. And so ran the circle.

Hermione, luckily, had yet to watch her own offspring endure such testing. True, she had wondered exactly what it was like to see thirteen years of your child's life pass by within an hour, but not to the point where she would willingly get herself pregnant. That would be plain horrible, for anyone. True, Hermione was of the more insolent women and yes, her c.c.s had been confiscated at least a half dozen times, but she had only gotten pregnant once. And, due to the fact that this man found the idea of fucking two women at once (as he liked to call it) she was pummeled with summons. This, combined with her purposeful lack of food consumption, lost Hermione her very first daughter. Contrary to belief, she sighed in relief, cried for ten minutes or so and resumed her life. She had killed her own child, but at the same time saved her from a no-doubt worse fate.

Hermione was currently married to a tall, pot-bellied, handsome black man named Charon. She had been summoned this morning and, after the usual bit of consoling from her chamber mates, Hermione donned her 'work' clothing and started off to his bedroom.

Charon had fourteen wives, all between the ages of thirteen and thirty. As per, one should expect to be summoned approximately every two weeks, provided they did not tread on holy ground while in his presence. Then it could be more or less, depending on how terrible a crime they had committed. When summoned, a wife was expected to don tight clothing and report to their Master's chambers for work. A little bell each woman dreaded.

The summoning bells lined the wall above the door. There were fourteen, one for each wife, and a number below each. Number three twenty nine had rung this morning. Hermione.

She was simply one among the wives. They all slept in one bedroom, under the watchful eye of twelve guards. Hermione had never met any of these women before Charon decided to wed her. None of them had attended Hogwarts, and a few didn't even speak English. It was just as well; she would do herself wrong to become attached to these women. Chances are she'd be rejected within the next week.

Hermione had been rejected nearly six times in just the past year. She was a legend; every of her husbands told his neighbor, who told his brother, who told someone... the entire castle knew about her. And so, she was wed to only those men who were attracted to this gossip, who found her a challenge, and eventually they would all give up. Charon was scheduled to do so very shortly.

Hermione balanced the hot tray in her hands, trying to alternate the weight shifting as to save her hands from scalding. Of course, they would be red and raw by the time she reached his room, but it was expected. Charon liked his tray hot. In truth, she supposed it was because it hurt her to carry, and therefore she would attend to him quickly.

And so, wearing only a black leather bra and matching shorts so short she could actually feel herself hanging out of them, Hermione marched to her Master's door.

o-o-o-o-o

She looks like a teenage anthem

She looks like a magazine girl

She looks a teenage anthem

Like she used to be happy in another world

o-o-o-o-o

It wasn't a long walk; he lived just on the other end of the corridor. When she did arrive, Hermione placed the try flat on one hand and lifted the other to knock. A groan of a reply came from inside and Hermione entered, immediately dropping to her knees before him.

"Rise," he commanded amusedly. It always seemed to be comical to Charon that the women were at his beck and call. Hermione did as requested and placed the hot tray on the desk by the door. She clenched her fists at her sides and tried to concentrate more on the persistent itch in the back of her neck than the scald of her hands. Hermione, like every other wife in the world, had her number tattooed on the back of her neck, just in case a check was needed. She found herself constantly scratching it, although it was initiated almost six years ago.

When his breakfast was placed safely on the table, Hermione turned toward the bed where Charon sat, watching her bemusedly. She sighed.

"Sir," Hermione said in reluctant greeting, and Charon lifted a finger, wagging it at her.

"You didn't curtsy for me, love."

He always called her that... love. As if he loved anything but sex and his big plush bed.

o-o-o-o-o

I get no pleasure

When I'm going through the motions

Of my mediocre day to day

o-o-o-o-o

"I apologize, sir," Hermione said, but did not correct her 'mistake'. Charon glared slightly, and Hermione smiled inside. He was angered so easily.

"Well, do it now, love," he commanded, but Hermione lifted her nose to the air.

"I'd rather not, sir."

Charon seethed and Hermione shook her head. She had no idea what gave him the idea that he could take a challenge. This was nothing; she'd had to drop hot coffee on her last husband, Bernard, and 'accidentally' call him 'Bastard' six times during sex before he released her. She was just refusing to bend her knees for this man, and he was already ready to throw her out.

"And why is that?"

"I fear I may be with child, sir, and in doing as you ask, my knees may buckle, putting our child to harm," Hermione lied.

o-o-o-o-o

I'm just an actor

Just like Robert fucking Redford

When I say those stupid words that they

Expect me to say

o-o-o-o-o

She knew she wasn't pregnant. In fact, she'd had a test just that Sunday. She hadn't slept with her husband since, and, therefore, had nothing to fear. This said, Hermione heard through the grapevine that Charon found such 'insolence' very unattractive, and would, therefore, either not call on her, or more wonderfully, reject her. Charon looked disgusted the moment she mentioned herself tainted, and he let out a breath.

"Are you sure?"

"I believe so, sir."

"Very well," Charon choked, leaning back against his headboard. "In that case, you are released. Go to collect your things and send in one twelve." Hermione tried to look heartbroken. She bowed her head.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, bowed softly, and turned around just in time to hide the smile which plastered itself on her face. 'You are released'. Oh how she loved those three words... the closest thing to 'I love you' she would ever hear. For the nicer of the Masters, Release was synonymous with Rejection. If they wished to be harsh, they would use the original phrasing, but, in such a case, it was not Hermione's fault that she'd misbehaved, and, therefore Charon spared her face to face refusal. And so, she did as told; returned to her chamber maids and sent another to their doom, then collected what few things she did own and high tailed it to the holding chambers.

o-o-o-o-o

I don't want to be your good time

I don't want to be your fallback crutch anymore

o-o-o-o-o

AN: I do not own Hermione Granger, Harry, Ron, Hogwarts, or any other such character. Also, I do not own the lyrics represented in this story. As I could not find one appropriate song, I've composed a medley of lyrics from one of my favorite bands; Everclear. Songs include:

(All Fucked Up) (Amphetamine) (Chemical Smile) (I Will Buy You a New Life) (Misery Whip) (Santa Monica) (When It All Goes Wrong Again)


	2. Fairy Tale

Erstwhile on TUB:

"Very well," Charon choked, leaning back against his headboard. "In that case, you are released. Go to collect your things and send in one twelve." Hermione tried to look heartbroken. She bowed her head.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, bowed softly, and turned around just in time to hide the smile which plastered itself on her face. 'You are released'. Oh how she loved those three words... the closest thing to 'I love you' she would ever hear. For the nicer of the Masters, Release was synonymous with Rejection. If they wished to be harsh, they would use the original phrasing, but, in such a case, it was not Hermione's fault that she'd misbehaved, and, therefore Charon spared her face to face refusal. And so, she did as told; returned to her chamber maids and sent another to their doom, then collected what few things she did own and high tailed it to the holding chambers.

-

Chapter Two: Fairy Tale

When she arrived, every woman in the room looked eagerly up at the door. For most, it was considered a disgrace to be there, and any man willing would be greatly appreciated. Hermione smiled as she entered and walked directly to the nearest empty cubicle, ignoring the disappointed frowns she got from the others.

The walls of the holding chamber were lined with dozens of tiny, door less closets. When a wife or NewChild entered, they would choose a closet to hang their issued clothing (A nightshirt, one pair of shorts, one pair of pants, a tee shirt and a sweater) as well as anything else they may own (towels, socks, undergarments, leftover working clothes, ect.). Then, when a man entered, looking for a wife, each woman would dash to her closet and stand on the raised floor so that their suitor could view them properly.

The center of the room held one extremely large mattress on the floor, for which the waiting women would sit to converse or relax. Hermione seemed unwanted by the other women; the men were not the only ones who had heard about her. A good majority of females spited her for her 'dangerous' guise, so attracting to the roguish men. So, in an attempt to keep the peace and not cause riot among the guards, Hermione curled herself up in her closet and closed her eyes, listening to the meaningless and bilingual dribble emitting from the center of the room. With little else to do, she drifted off.

This soon proved to be a mistake.

Only an hour or so after Hermione's arrival, the door crashed open again. The women looked up once more, and this time dispersed from their common cushion, fleeing to their showcases. Standing in the doorway was a tall, burly man with dark hair. He wore a suit and bowler, as well as sunglasses. This seemed odd to most of the girls, but none commented. The room was completely silent.

The oafish man drew his eyes along the rows, watching as each woman swelled her chest and put on the most glamorous of smiles, trying to attract his attention. Alas, his eyes simply passed over them until, noticing something different, he doubled back. Hermione was still crouched in her closet, sleeping peacefully and none the wiser. A little smirk graced his lips; he seemed to be amused. Without a second look at any of the other woman, the oafish man approached her, grinning as he shook her shoulder lightly. Hermione moaned a little, quite content with her nap, but the oaf persisted.

"What?" she squawked, assuming it were one of the other women waking her. Giggles were heard across the room, and Hermione opened her eyes. She gasped a bit at seeing such a gruesome site and immediately began to apologize. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir..." she started, then tried to stand. Unfortunately, her cramped legs combined with the tight space she was wedged into made this virtually impossible. The oaf chuckled.

"I think you'll do," he said, mostly to himself, in a deep, croak-like voice. Hermione gave her best smile, but her cheeks were tinted red. A slip up like this could hardly help her reputation. The man took her hand in his and helped her from the box, then slipped the little metal band around her finger before taking her things from the hook attached to the wall. Hermione held out her arms, a thank you on her lips, expecting him to hand her possessions over. The oaf surprised her, however; he slung the clothing over one arm and took her hand in the other, leading her from the room. Hermione's head was racing; she was never helped up, or had things carried for her, or lead cautiously, as if she mattered. Something told her she wouldn't mind being married to this man, no matter his unattractive stature. Hermione had actually convinced herself that she didn't want an attractive husband. With all the stereotypes in her world, such a thing could rightfully be considered a sin. She didn't want to put anyone through what she was going through.

The oaf led her up what seemed like a hundred flights of stairs, and down several thousand corridors before finally stopping in front of a simple wooden door. Hermione smiled at him, but the oaf paid her little attention, opening the door and pushing her lightly inside before following. He hung her clothing on the single bell above the entrance, then gave a tiny bow.

"The master's chambers are down the hall, up the stairs, third door on the right, the bathroom is just across the way, and my quarters are two doors down, if you need anything. Goodnight, Miss," Oaf man rambled. This broke Hermione from her revere; she had been admiring the amazing room she had just been lead into. At first, Hermione was sure these were the master's chambers, but Oafman had corrected her. He retreated before she could ask him anything (like, for instance, who her master was). Evidently, it was not the oafish man, and she had specified himself a different room.

Hermione was surprised most by the sheer emptiness of her new living quarters. Of course, there was the initial reaction of it's beauty; a real bed, dresser, full length mirror, couch, fireplace... anything she could ever want, but had never in a thousand years imagined she would receive. But, especially in a room of this caliber, where were the other wives? She felt oddly lonely and contemplated paying the master an early visit, but such disturbance could get her kicked out of this luxury and sent back to a man like Charon, who had all his wives sleep on cots and rub their hands over candles to warm them.

With a grin plastered on her face, Hermione decided to stop contemplating her surroundings and instead enjoy them. First things first; she leapt onto her bed and basked in the comfort so odd without greasy hands tainting the pleasure.

Her first summons came early that evening, while she savored the less than mouth-watering slop the oafish man had brought her. It had given her a chance to ask a few questions, but to each his reply was 'Ask thy master, miss'. And, so, Hermione watched him leave without the slightest snippet more of knowledge except that the man's name was Sergio. So, with a disappointed frown, Hermione had tried to eat the dishful of death the cooks tried to pass of as food. She truthfully thought that the women were given the men's leftovers, complete with bite-marks, in some cases. Nevertheless, it was food.

But Hermione didn't eat much. She was nervous, and her mind kept wandering. Why on earth would a man take only one wife? And, if he did, why would he put her up in such wonderful accommodations? It wasn't economical. He must be very influential.

In a moment of panic, she thought first of Mauriz and shuttered. But, he was soon ruled out. For one, he would never treat a woman, even his own mother, like she was anything more than a piece of property. Secondly, she had already been married to Mauriz. In fact he was her first husband. Evidently, he thought it only right to honor Harry by raping her so harshly she'd had to stay in bed for a week. It was only then that he released her; evidently, she was too weak for his tastes. She never once regretted putting up that much fuss. It had hurt, but not that badly. It was mostly for show and it worked. Unfortunately, she was merely passed on to another man and another all-nighter. Oh, the shame.

But, Hermione was broken from her memories by a high-pitched ring. She looked immediately to the little bell above the door and, sure enough, it was swinging melodically back and forth. So, Hermione sighed and put her tray on the bedside table, where it disappeared. It was a mystery as to why they didn't simply make the food _appear_, as opposed to manual carrying, but you can't argue with those cooks, or they just give you bread and bones. And it's never even good bread.

With a stiff upper lip, Hermione walked to her closet. She had yet to hang up her clothes, but expected her work outfit to be hanging there, as it was not laid across her bed. To her surprise, however, the cherry wood cupboard was empty. After a thorough but quick search of the room, she concluded that there was nothing to wear. And, so, she attempted to make something out of nothing and use her standard issue. The closest thing she could find to provocative were her shorts, which reached mid-thigh, and a tee shirt, which she knotted at the stomach. She looked nothing like a prostitute, and so had not accomplished her goal, but it would have to do, as she had nothing more 'appropriate'. After a quick trip to the nothing-special bathroom (except that it had a bathtub. Most only had showers.) to brush her teeth, Hermione followed Sergio's directions up the stairs.

As she walked the short distance, she couldn't help but feel anxious. Of course, there was always a bit of wonder whenever she was given a new master to please, but this was the first time she'd ever not seen him before her first summons. What kind of a man sends his bodyguard to pick him a wife? One without much preference, she assumed. As she came upon the door, Hermione thought to look at her ring. She'd been shoved from the holding chambers so quickly she hadn't even seen the symbol. It was a tiny 'D', embossed in a yellow colored material (Hermione would have assumed gold, had she not been so sure no man would spend that kind of time and money picking out a ring) and engraved along the edges to form a curly box around the prominent symbol. It was truly unlike most of the rings she'd owned before, which had either some sort of cross and arrow combination or simply the Master's name.

Turning her eyes away as to not analyze it further, Hermione looked up at the dark door. It seemed so uninviting that it made her dread falling asleep. With a deep breath, she knocked. She'd have to do it sometime.

"Come in," called a voice from inside, and Hermione did as asked, turning the knob and stepping inside. Anxious, she dragged her eyes about the room, searching out the one to which she was wed. When she spotted him, however, she became even uneasier. At first, she could not see any distinguishing characteristics except to note that he had quite handsome hands. Her master sat in a high-backed chair, facing away from the door and toward the fire, and was currently extinguishing a cigar that made Hermione wrinkle her nose. She could only see his hand, reached across the little table beside his chair, and, therefore, his identity was still a mystery. Hermione stood tall and waited, unspeaking, as he finished his task and stood up. When he turned to her, Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She forgot all reason and spoke completely out of turn.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, and her master stopped walking. He looked up, surprised, and his own face showed wonder.

"Granger?"

Hermione lost herself completely and threw herself into his arms, squeezing him as if he were her one last breath of life. She stayed that way a moment, too caught up in the feeling of her position than the consequences that may arise. When Draco put his arms around her, however, she was broken from her dangerous trance. Hermione's heart sank and she followed it, dropping to the ground and bowing to her husband.

"I beg your forgiveness, sir... I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts in years; I was overcome with... with surprise... I..." Hermione stuttered, but stopped a moment later when she realized she had said the dreaded 'H' word. For sure now she'd be rejected and on the first day, as well. After such a lovely few hours in her quarters, too. She'd never forgive herself for this one. The thought that she would have to be married to and please Malfoy were she to stay had no effect on her. In fact, it had barely crossed her mind. She no longer possessed any dignity. It had slowly seeped out of her until she were left completely ignorant to the fact that ten years ago she would have thought her life disgraceful.

"Hermione..." Draco hissed as if embarrassed, dropping into a squat and trying to lift Hermione from her low center of gravity. "What are you doing... come on, get up," he said, pulling Hermione up by her arms. She gave him an odd and inquisitive look, but otherwise resumed her professional appearance, standing stiffly, with arms at her sides. She kept her eyes rooted on Draco's shiny shoes. A frown crossed her lips as she realized she wasn't wearing any... and that her feet were dirty and quite unattractive; callused and blistered. Shoes were not included in the standard issue, and she had grown out of her sixth year Mary Janes quite quickly. Five years walking barefooted on stone would promise you inferior insteps. For the first time in probably her entire life, Hermione felt self-conscious. Draco was by far the most attractive man she had ever been married to. He looked just as she remembered him, except perhaps a bit taller and broad shouldered. His face was just as boyish and innocent (despite the diabolical brain hidden behind it) as ever, and those gorgeous eyes, taking her in, made her extremely aware of the unflattering clothing she was wearing. She curled her toes in and crossed her arms over her stomach. A moment later, however, she replaced them at her sides. She would admit it; she was nervous.

"I'm sorry, sir," she repeated, but felt a hand on her shoulder before she could expand. Startled, she turned her eyes back up to that familiar face. Draco ignored her words and focused instead on her attire.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, sounding completely surprised, and Hermione couldn't help but suck in what little of a stomach she had. He didn't even notice.

"I'm sorry, sir... I was not provided anything of your liking and therefore poorly improvised my wardrobe, sir," she stated as if it had been said a million times. Hermione felt ashamed. First her feet, now her clothes... was there anything fitful about her?

"You own nothing warmer than this?" he piped curiously, moving his hands to untie the little knot in her shirt and letting a curtain of cotton blanket her abdomen. "You must be freezing... how can you stand this?" Hermione was now more confused than ever.

"I... I am used to it, sir," she recited, quite aware of the goose bumps on her arms. She could be an inch from hypothermia and not complain to her husband about the chill. It was not her job to stay warm; it was her job to keep him warm. Draco placed his hand on her cheek, bringing her eyes to his. He held a little frown on his lips, as if he'd been told not to spoil his dinner with dessert. Hermione would have laughed at this picture, were she not completely frazzled by his touch. He was already the most intimate man she had ever stood beside; sex and touching were two very different things.

"Please," he started, softly. "Don't tell me they've taken you too. Of everyone, I would have thought you would salvage a bit of yourself." Hermione was completely mesmerized; he was simply speaking with her. Why did it feel so strange and wonderful to be acknowledged like a human being?

o-o-o-o-o

I moved in with the strangest guy

Can you believe he actually thinks that I am really alive?

o-o-o-o-o

However, she had nothing to say, and Draco continued.

"For if a spirit as strong as yours has died, my crusade is useless. There will be no one left to save."

Hermione wanted badly to ask one of the thousand questions exploding in her mind. What could he mean, save? Surely not...

"Say something," he commanded gently, stroking her cheek. Hermione shuttered. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I..." she started, exhaling after only this first syllable. She had kept everything bottled up for so long, it was hard to even begin to explain what was locked inside. Draco was patient. He lifted another hand to her upper arm, rubbing slowly and coaxing her to speak civilly to him. "What are you talking about?"

"I've come to stop this madness," Draco stated, a smile lighting his face. Hermione looked up, eyes wide. "It's been slow progress, but the plan is on the way. I don't want this life for you... for any of the women bound here." Hermione slowly backed out of his touch, shaking her head.

"No..." she started, unable to believe him messiah. "You're lying..."

"Of course I'm not... why would I lie about..."

"Where would you take us? There is no where to run... the world has been conquered by that madman; there IS no escape," Hermione continued, backing toward the bed as Draco advanced toward her.

"Hermione..." he said, pleadingly, but she shook her head, seating herself on the plush mattress, surprised that it was no softer than the one in her room.

"Please..." she whispered. "Just have your way with me and let me go... I don't want to talk about this." Draco crossed his arms as he stopped his advance, standing directly in front of her.

"What if I don't want to 'have my way with you'?" he asked stiffly, and Hermione stood again.

"Then you have rejected me, Master. I shall recollect my things and return to the holding chambers," she stated, eyes softly lain upon his face. Draco's own narrowed.

"You do realize I could have you beaten to death for the liberties you've taken with me in the past hour, do you not?" he reminded her and, although she failed to suppress a shiver, Hermione stood her ground.

"Then so be it. I would rather be caned thirty times than have my hopes lifted and crushed before my very eyes. If you so will it, sir, I shall report first to the caning tower," she said, maintaining eye contact. They stared for a good minute before Draco blinked and broke into a hefty grin.

"I knew they couldn't have killed you. To them you may be a number, but Hermione Granger will all was be in there," he said, sounding proud, and Hermione's stature crumbled. She frowned, looking to her superior as if he had opened her mind and taken the best kept of secrets. "Let's just test to be sure... are you cold?"

"Freezing," she answered automatically, and Draco smiled.

"Why didn't you wear something warmer?"

"I've been taught to report to a summons dressed appropriately. Warmth is not of concern," she said, turning her eyes downward. Draco nodded.

"Why aren't you wearing shoes?"

"I have none..." Her voice became softer and softer with each question asked, until Draco grew completely silent. Hermione sighed. "My life is a bloody hell," she admitted, dropping onto the edge of the bed. Draco crouched in front of her and ran his fingers along her face.

"I know... that's why I want to get everyone out of here," he said and Hermione winced. Taking this to mean she still didn't believe him, Draco sighed. "I lied," he said, and Hermione looked up with narrowed eyes.

"Which part was a lie?" she asked, "The part about saving us, or the part about not getting me caned?" Draco shook his head, although a tiny frown crossed his lips.

"The part where I refused you," he said. Hermione's eyes grew wide, but she soon bowed her head and sighed.

"Of course it was. You are a man, aren't you? Alright then, Master," she said, turning to lay spread eagle on the bed. "Take me if you will." Draco smiled and shook his head. She didn't quite understand yet, but she would shortly. He kicked off his shoes and crawled toward her, amused at the complete lack of being there was in her body. He didn't doubt she put herself somewhere else when a husband called her for summons. Anyone of intelligence would, and Hermione was certainly of intelligence.

She lay still, waiting with eyes closed as he exposed himself (or at least this is what she assumed). Her focus wanted to drift, but she kept herself mostly of conscious mind; at least until he broke into her pants. Then would be time for wandering.

Draco, however, had different plans. He first pulled the sheets (which were folded at the bottom of the bed) over them, then turned his focus to his wife. In a mere second, he held his lips gently pressed to hers. Even at a distance, Draco could feel her heart start to beat abnormally quickly. Evidently, she wasn't used to this.

Draco ended his kiss without reciprocation and waited a moment as Hermione caught her breath. He smiled at her, so serene and already disheveled. He leaned close to her ear and placed a tiny kiss beside it before whispering.

"Hermione..." he hissed softly, feeling her shutter at the mere sensation. With a smile, Draco continued. "I have a command for you," he said, kissing her ear again as he felt her frown. "I want you to let yourself enjoy this. You may not think you want to... and I can understand, but I want you to." Hermione exhaled in a stutter, breath ragged. No one had ever asked anything of any such circumstance of her. She was literally speechless.

section deleted for 'obscene' purposes

Mauriz had been the man to deflower her. A modest seventh year, yes... she was a virgin. The right man just hadn't come along (not that Mauriz was anything but wrong). Then, she had had that one fateful night and she had turned herself away from the pleasures of sex in an instant.

section deleted for 'obscene' purposes

This was going to be much, much different. Draco was already doing and making her feel things she'd only read about in cheesy romance... he trailed shivers up her spine, suckled her breasts, kissed and touched her everywhere, and, of course, initiated a strange, mind-numbing sensation in her lower abdomen.

section deleted for 'obscene' purposes

Draco had no intention of finishing their night so quickly. He worked slowly, discarding clothing, touching, feeling, and gauging reaction. Those snippets of things she gasped for were recorded in his memory, and each time they hit a lull, he would nip at her teat or dip his tongue into her navel. Her breath would catch and she would say something obscure, then he would continue to try new things.

section deleted for 'obscene' purposes

"I'm sorry," he whispered, fully aware he hadn't quite made it long enough to give her the one gift she needed so badly. Hermione's eyelids fluttered open and she furrowed her brows at him.

"Why?" she asked honestly. "You were amazing..." Draco smirked slightly, but shook his head.

"I was a passion-drunk pre-teen who couldn't even control himself," he corrected and Hermione smiled slightly, turning her eyes to the ceiling and concentrating on the strange feeling still churning in her stomach.

"Call it what you want," she said. "I'm not disappointed." She soon felt kisses along her collarbone.

"You should be," Draco whispered before creeping two fingers beneath the sheets.

section deleted for 'obscene' purposes

Hermione's grip tightened, her body tensed, and Hansel and Gretel's rock began to pulsate. They tried a few more times to free themselves, but slowed soon after and gave themselves up. With one last try, the children tried to ease themselves out slowly. To their surprise, it worked. They retreated no worse for the wear, except covered in sand.

Hermione again relaxed, feeling as if her entire body had expelled its energy in one fluent motion. Draco withdrew from her, using his hand to instead support himself beside her. She was breathing deeply, trying to calm herself down, no doubt. Draco smiled and kissed her softly.

"Now you can 'not be disappointed'," he instructed and Hermione let out a breathy laugh, turning to face him once more.

"How..."

"Lucky guess," Draco teased, making Hermione smile. She sighed then, and kissed him for the first time.

"Thank you," she said, paused a moment, then turned over and sat up. Draco frowned as he watched her search out her underwear.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sounding disenchanted. Hermione paused and turned toward him, looking confused.

"My room. I always..." she started, but trailed off. Draco smiled and opened his arms to her. Hermione didn't hesitate to fall into his embrace.

A/N: Uncensored version can be found at http:tangledupinblue. 


	3. Love Me

Erstwhile on TUB:

"Now you can 'not be disappointed'," he instructed and Hermione let out a breathy laugh, turning to face him once more.

"How..."

"Lucky guess," Draco teased, making Hermione smile. She sighed then, and kissed him for the first time.

"Thank you," she said, paused a moment, then turned over and sat up. Draco frowned as he watched her search out her underwear.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sounding disenchanted. Hermione paused and turned toward him, looking confused.

"My room. I always..." she started, but trailed off. Draco smiled and opened his arms to her. Hermione didn't hesitate to fall into his embrace.

-

Chapter Three: Love Me

Hermione woke the next morning only to relish in the warmth and comfort of the bed she occupied. For a few seconds, it was all she could do to simply lie on her side and enjoy it but then, coherent thought took over. This definitely wasn't her cot. In a morbid bit of hope, she wondered if perhaps Charon had died during sex and she had been left to sleep in his bed.

It wasn't until a weight was placed on the opposite side of the mattress that Hermione ruled out her husband's death. Maybe he'd just fallen asleep and had gotten up to vomit his red wine. Then, however, she was encased in a warm, bulky body that definitely did not belong to Charon. Whomever this stranger was, he crushed his chest to her back and wove an arm around hers, pressing warm lips to the back of her neck.

All at once, she remembered Malfoy. The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stood on end and she shuddered fiercely. Either Draco thought she was cold, or he simply loved to torture her, as he hugged her closer, fitting their bodies together.

Hermione was suddenly aware of the thin cotton sheets on her bare skin, the clammy sensation of dried sweat on her entire body, and more so than anything, the way his closeness aroused her. Had she a few years less experience in hiding emotion, Hermione probably would have rolled onto her back and begged him to take her again.

However, Hermione was not a teenager anymore. She knew the consequences of her actions all too well. And, with a sharp intake of breath, she tensed, confusing the cornflower blond boy clinching her.

"Hermione?" he whispered, as if cautious of her sleep, and Hermione moved quickly; pulling out of his arms and bringing her knees to her chest. She drew herself as tightly into the corner as she could, using the white cotton sheet to cover herself as she stared at him with sleepless and frightened eyes.

Draco pulled himself onto one arm and stared softly at her, eyebrows crossed. He had left their nest to shower and dress, and come back to find his wife withdrawn, as if someone had scarred her while he was away. She watched him suspiciously, eyes flicking to any body part he flinched, be it foot or finger. After a long pause and no leeway toward conversation, Draco boldly and gently reached a hand toward her. Hermione, however, cowered into her corner, bringing the sheet to her chin.

"What are you going to do?" she wondered aloud, voice weak. Draco frowned deeply, withdrawing his hand a bit.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, reaching out again. Hermione withdrew and started trembling, obviously scared and confused. The reality of last night was just hitting her; what he'd said, what he'd _done_... everything. It was too much for her fragile being. "I won't even touch you if you wish me not to..." Draco continued, placing a hand on the bed and destroying its potential to harm. Hermione tried to control her breathing, but it was an attempt proved futile.

Draco loomed closer; out of concern or amusement, Hermione could not tell. She drew into the corner as far as she could, then ducked her head below her knees. The closer he came, however, the harder it was to control her trembling. Draco noticed, but he continued his decent until he was sure she could feel him breathing on her neck. Hermione tried to keep up her strength, but unfamiliar and uncomfortable beat out strong, and she broke down, sobbing into the bed linins.

Draco's little frown deepened, and he moved a finger to brush along her cheek. Hermione gasped at the sensation, eyes wide with fear, and turned quickly toward him, resuming her attentive watch. He ran his thumb back the path of his finger and sighed slightly.

"Why do you fear me?" Draco asked in whisper, and Hermione turned back to her knees. With a wry frown, he pressed the bridge of his nose to the side of her face, allayed when she made no further effort to shut him out. "Hermione... I know what you've been through, and I'm sorry. I can't possibly imagine what it's been like for you... please, let me help you. That's all I want..." he continued, placing a kiss just under her jawbone; a place worthy of remembering. Hermione slowly let her guard crumble; she relaxed and slowed her breathing, letting him comfort her. But, as seemed to be common, reality broke through her euphoria.

"No!" she cried, pushing him hard in the chest. Draco was much too heavy for her to move very far, and he merely rolled onto his side. Hermione ignored the tears blurring her movement and grabbed his wrists, jerking his hands to cover her breasts. She opened her egg-like position and laid flat, pressing his palms to her flesh. Draco made no move until Hermione had stopped whatever she was trying to do, allowing him to free his hands. He moved one again to her face, but Hermione shook her head. "No... hurt me, rape me... kill me, if you have to... just don't... don't do it again," she pleaded, and Draco frowned, but made no move to do anything she suggested.

"Don't do what?" he asked gently, brushing fingers through her hair. Hermione kept her eyes glued shut as her chin trembled.

"Don't..." she repeated. "Don't love me. You can take my body, but you'll never have my soul." Draco frowned deeply. He knew now that he had broken her. He'd tried to be so careful and yet she'd still shattered in his grasp.

"Hermione..." he said again, but she shook her head, trying to block him out entirely. "What if... what if I can't help it?" Hermione said nothing, but breathed slowly, as if she willed her heart to stop beating. Draco trailed his finger over her lips and she shuttered, chin trembling once more. "Why can't you trust me?" he asked. Hermione hesitated.

"B-because... you're a man. All you'll do is hurt me," she stuttered. Draco held her face in his hand, gently turning it toward him.

"I thought I showed you last night that I'm not like them..." he said softly, stroking her skin.

"No... the only difference between you and them, is that you really _want_ to hurt me..." she started, voice deadly soft. "You're willing to put in the effort to really cut me... make me love you, and _then_ throw me into the cold. You're worse than all of them put together." Draco was stunned silent for a moment, mouth agape as he listened to her. She was torn farther than he'd originally thought and it was only then that Draco realized. By making love to Hermione, he'd completely screwed himself.

"How can you assume such a thing? I know we've had our differences but honestly, Hermione. This war has changed everyone... some for the better."

"I don't care what's happened to YOU," Hermione said icily and Draco lowered his eyes. He was ashamed; of course she didn't care. She'd been through a thousand times worse. "You're just a man... what can you honestly care about other than sex... and the occasional bit of torture. You're all the same," she continued, voice the heir of spite.

"How can you say that? Listen to yourself... what would anyone say if they heard you?"

"I'd imagine it would depend on who the person listening was... not that anyone would listen to me. A man would disagree and probably kill me, and a woman would be too scared to share her two cents," Hermione whispered, turning her head away from him to stare blankly at nothing. She was determined. There was nothing anyone could say that would change what she thought; especially not some two-timing man. Draco gave a little huff and decided a different approach. Obviously, gentle conversation wasn't getting him anywhere with this girl. In fact, she'd gained confidence. He'd have to play the atomic button. He rolled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, fastening his cuff links.

"What would Harry say?" he wondered aloud, as if simply speaking to himself. Hermione gasped loudly and sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet to her bosom.

"How dare you..." she started, but was interrupted by Draco, who stood up and turned toward her, walking around the bed and in the direction of the door.

"How dare I what? You're the one making assumptions based on a complete lack of information. I was merely wondering what he'd think of what you've been saying about him. No harm in that, is there?"

"What I've been saying about him? I've never said an unkind word about Harry in my life!" Hermione cried, tears stinging her eyes at, for the first time in years, speaking her best friends' name.

"You're contradicting yourself, Hermione. Did you not just say 'You're just a man... what can you honestly care about other than sex? You're all the same'. I do believe Harry is a member of that category."

"No..." Hermione said briskly, standing to face her husband and wrapping the white cotton sheet tightly around her body. "Not Harry. He would never..."

"And why do you assume different of me?" Draco asked, trying his hardest to keep up the guise and not feel guilty. She looked so small and broken naked and wrapped in a sheet with tears pouring down her cheeks. After a moment, he sighed and brought a hand to her face, brushing away a few tears. Hermione, however, turned away from his grasp. Draco's eyes grew slightly narrow and he dropped his incorrigible hand. "He knows what you've been doing, you know. He knows how you've betrayed him." Hermione's eyes flashed worriedly to the ceiling, and she took a step back, but then narrowed her eyebrows and made eye contact with her husband.

"He wouldn't spite me..." she assured. "He'd understand." Draco's face became impassive and he shrugged.

"Perhaps you're right. I'll ask today and let you know when I return," he said, taking his coat from the hook by the door. Hermione stomped her foot.

"That is anything but funny!" she said coarsely, ignoring the fresh set of tears. Draco turned back and gave a slight nod.

"I didn't intend it to be," he said, as if he had no idea what she was talking about. Hermione gave a high-pitched screech of frustration.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, Malfoy! Harry's dead! I saw it with my own eyes! How dare you try to tell me otherwise..."

Draco frowned. A real, genuine frown. She thought Harry was dead? No wonder she was acting so touched by his mention. This time, the wave of guilt took him completely under.

"You think Harry's dead?" he asked, and Hermione glared. Draco draped his coat over the hook and took a step toward her. Hermione was too angry to back away. "He's not, Hermione."

"I saw everything, Draco. I will not be brainwashed," she said, standing stiff and rigid, arms clasped across her chest. Draco took her shoulders in his warm hands, steadying her for what she would be told next.

"It's not what you think, Hermione... Dumbledore was prepared. All our little classroom jokes turned out to be truer than we'd thought; he _had_ thought of everything. There was some sort of charm... I'm not clear on the mechanics, but... when he was killed, everyone else was protected. Every person you saw vanish that day, including Harry, was merely apparated out of Hogwarts and placed safely at platform nine and three quarters. The only students who died were those killed by deatheaters, before Voldemort was defeated. Everyone is completely fine," he promised, "Mauriz never knew." Hermione was stunned stiff for a moment. She believed him. The prospect was just so fantastic and his eyes so deeply honest; she wanted to hug him.

"Really?" she asked, voice small, and Draco couldn't help but to grin. He was getting through to her. "Everyone?"

"Would I be here, if not? I was in the great hall too, that day. We had Transfiguration together," Draco said, and Hermione smiled sadly at the memory of such a thing. Transfiguration. It was like a dream. "I can prove it to you..." he said. "We decided to stick together... united against Mauriz, what with no Voldemort to separate us. We live together, all of us... in a six-story farmhouse near Canterbury. I can't take you away just yet... but I can bring someone here. To prove I have good intentions." Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Harry?" she asked hopefully, but Draco's face fell, and he shook his head.

"No... not Harry. Or Ron. It has to be someone inconspicuous, so I can tell them he just wants to have a look around... see if he'd like to join the establishment," Draco said gently, hands firmly placed on her shoulders. Hermione frowned and nodded, eyes on the floor. He gave her half a smile. "Anyone in particular you'd like to see?" She shook her head.

"Anyone from Gryffindor would suit me fine," Hermione said softly. Draco's smile grew and he pretended to sigh.

"Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor..." he muttered, rolling his eyes and releasing her, moving back toward the door. Hermione shifted her makeshift dress to better cover herself, then turned her attention to watching him open the door.

"Draco," she said softly, and his ears perked up, as if surprised to hear her speak his name. Draco turned back and smiled, awaiting her explanation. Hermione, however, simply stepped forward and embraced him, unashamed to be doing so. Draco, of course, reciprocated; glad to have finally made contact with her fragile being. "Thank you, so much," Hermione said, muffled against his chest. "You're really not so horrible anymore." Draco chuckled softly.

"Of course I'm not," he said in defense. "I have the heart of a young boy." Hermione pulled back, lifting an eyebrow at him, and Draco smirked his celebrated smirk. "In a jar... on my desk." She giggled and he grinned, then placed a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be back in maybe two hours. I'll have Sergio bring you some new clothes, so all you have to do is get ready and wait in your room. I'll send them there... no worries about me eavesdropping. Anything else, if you need it, just tell Serge and he'll get it for you." Hermione nodded, and adjusted her sheet again, pulling away from her husband's embrace with a smile. Draco picked up his coat again, and shrugged it on before fully opening the door. Before he left, however, he turned back. "Oh, right... I saved some breakfast for you. No need to eat awful slop they fix in the kitchens. Just over by the hearth, there," he said with a grin, and Hermione blushed at the floor. Draco said nothing and moved not an inch until Hermione peeked up at him through the curtain of hair that blanketed her forehead. Then, he smirked, and kissed her cheek. "Be ready," Draco reminded and disappeared down the hall.

Hermione smiled and shut the door, sighing deeply. She leaned against the frame and let herself slide to the floor, smiling like a fool. She was going to see someone from Hogwarts, one of her friends. There were ten Gryffindor boys in her year and without Harry and Ron, that left eight. Eight possible men she could be meeting from the past. And she'd thought last night's sex was the best thing that could ever happen to her.

This was like the twilight zone.

Hermione, after showering and dressing, sat eagerly in the middle of her bed. Draco wasn't due back for at least an hour, but one could never be too sure; he could arrive early. She had eaten breakfast as instructed; delicious eggs and toast with marmalade. This day couldn't possibly get better. She'd had a wonderful night with a wonderful man who (although suspicious) seemed kind hearted and genuine, then had had a wonderful breakfast, followed by the first bath in ages, complete with shampoo.

Aw, the wonders of shampoo. As a wife, she had gotten used to a hard, brown, glycerin soap bar which lasted a very long time without replacement. It smelled terrible, left her skin and hair dry and tingly, and was all in all not the very best. Oh, but not today. She'd gotten Rosemary shampoo and a big, foamy bar of creamy milk soap. Had it not been for these luxuries, Hermione would have found herself with a considerable amount of extra time. She had not planned to take more than a quarter hour in the bathroom, but exited to find that it was nearly half past the time of her entrance. All in all, however, it was worth it. She felt clean for the first time in ages, and was ready and willing to see anyone who came her way.

Hermione sat nervously on her bed twiddling thumbs and biting her lip when a knock was finally heard at the door. She jumped off her bed, nearly tripping on her way to the door, and threw it open with elation, only to moments later feel disappointment. She frowned deeply, then smiled for the benefit of her guest.

"Hello Sergio," she said softly, remembering that Draco had said something about clothing. The oaf grinned at her and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Good-day, Miss. Thy master has asked me to deliver these clothes to you, in preparation for your meeting this afternoon."

Hermione grinned widely as he handed over a watered-down, warmer version of her school uniform; a deep red skirt that would reach the tops of her knees, a long-sleeved black turtleneck, and a pair of shiny black pumps. Hermione nearly leapt out and hugged her deliverer.

"This is wonderful. Thank you," she squealed and immediately draped the clothing over her ruffled bedspread to view. After a moment or so, she pounced on them, pulling the skirt on over her shorts. Sergio turned completely around, as if nervous to be seeing a married woman dress.

"My pleasure, Miss. I'll just be going back to my quarters..."

"Oh, no..." Hermione said, sounding sad. "Stay until they return... please? I'm going absolutely nutters here by myself." Unable to say no to his mistress, Sergio gave a sharp nod toward the door.

"Of course, Miss."

"Good, good," she said, clapping, then hurriedly dressed. Had Sergio turned around, he would not have seen anything; she put her skirt on before taking off her shorts, then slipped the turtleneck over her t-shirt without bothering to take it off. It was cold. Then, slipping her shoes on, she sighed and sat on the bed. "You can come sit down, you know," she said, giggling. "It must be quite a bore to simply stare at the wall."

"Yes, Miss," Sergio said, hoping that she'd finished dressing before requesting him. When he turned, Hermione shook her head.

"You don't have to, of course. I was merely suggesting," she said softly, but Sergio simply followed her instructions and sat beside her on the bed.

"Anything you wish of me, Miss," he insisted. Although Hermione was internally overjoyed at this role reversal, Sergio had never been anything but kind to her. She didn't want to be the baron; she wanted to be the peacemaker. With a sigh, she pretended this didn't bother her and searched her mind for a topic to discuss.

"Do you know where Draco got these clothes? They're..." she started, but Sergio straightened and his eyes turned cold.

"You must call thy master 'Master' when not in his quarters, Miss, for if anyone were to overhear you speak his true name, it would surely be the death of him," he reprimanded, and Hermione watched with wide eyes. A moment later, Sergio's air of darkness dissolved and he became friendly once more. "I apologize, Miss." Hermione quickly shook her head.

"No, no... it's alright," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "Thank you."

"Of course, Miss," Sergio said and, before there could be an awkward silence, continued speaking. "I sent my wife to do your shopping, Miss. It seemed the only logical way to go about it." Hermione frowned and pulled her hand away at this remark.

"You're married?"

"Yes, Miss," he answered, but provided no further information. Hermione looked let down; she had thought so highly of Sergio.

"How many?" she asked softly, eyes focused away from his face. Sergio looked unexpectedly confused.

"How many what, Miss?"

"How many wives do you have?" she clarified, and the oafish man chuckled.

"Well, one, of course. She's very pretty, about your size... I love her very much," he said, removing his sunglasses and staring dazedly off into space. Hermione perked up at this confession.

"So, it's not like here?" she asked. "You really love her?"

"Of course it's not like here... I'm here to help thy master. And of course I love my wife; why would I have married her otherwise?" he asked, and Hermione smiled. Partially from his naivety toward the world, and partly from his disregard of the word 'Miss'. He was becoming comfortable, just as she'd hoped.

"Do you have children?" she asked, and Sergio looked elated.

"Yes, Miss. Two boys..." he said, and fished in his back pocket for his money case. She watched with a smile as he proudly flipped open the flap and showed her two pictures. "That's my oldest, Eliot, and that there is little Luca. He's only about two."

"They're beautiful, Sergio; look an awful lot like you," she praised, and he blushed, flipping the page.

"This is my wife, Adora. As I said, she chose your clothes."

"You'll have to thank her for me; they're perfect," Hermione said, smiling as he pocketed his precious pictures.

"Of course, Miss."

Hermione and her company lapsed into a small bit of silence. She stared at the floor for a few minutes, while Sergio simply darted his eyes around the room as if he'd never seen it before. Then, Hermione sighed and gave a smile, returning her attention to the conversation. She didn't like the silence; there was nothing awkward or nerve wracking about it, she simply did not like it. When it was quiet, she was left to think; thinking was not always good. Especially when it came to thinking about Draco and her surprise visitor.

"Sergio?" she said, turning her eyes upward. Her bodyguard brought his attention to his mistress and grinned.

"Yes, Miss?"

"How long have you known... my master?" she asked softly, intending to get a bit of background on Draco. She almost expected Sergio to grow cold again and tell her not to speak of Master's past, but he simply smiled warmly, as if remembering.

"Oh, a very long time, Miss. Since he was but a wee thing. I was his servant as he grew up, and still am today... though, I don't bathe him anymore," he said, finishing with a lighthearted tone that had Hermione giggling.

"What was he like as a child?"

"Frankly?" Sergio asked, and, when Hermione gave a little nod, he continued. "He was a spoilt brat. His mother left him in my care, and his father would occasionally spend a good hour or two here and there with him. I was more a father to the boy than his own... but, being only ten years younger, I couldn't account for much. It was most certainly his father that put such an evil in him, however. Well, his parents. I was simply there to attend to his every whim... as he grew up, though, thy master gained a bit more knowledge and gave me a little respect. Now, we're almost on equal ground. I don't expect him to stop orders... that would be preposterous. I'm much happier now than when he was small." She nodded along, smiling softly at imagining a five-year-old Draco in the bathtub, doused in soap and reprimanding Sergio for getting shampoo in his ear.

"Well," she said. "If you're here to serve my master, what has become of your family?"

"Oh," Sergio said, frowning a bit. "This is only temporary. We came in yesterday, got settled in and whatnot... then he sent me to fetch you this morning. Thy master only plans to stay for a few weeks... month, at most. We're not here to stay. I had to leave them... but Adora understood. She wasn't happy, of course, but she understood. I miss her already," he said, smiling slightly, and Hermione joined him.

"Why ARE you here... exactly?" she asked, and he looked surprised.

"I was sure thy master had told you..." Sergio started, and Hermione shook her head, although she thought he just might have. "We're here to shut the place down... take down Mauriz. We want to free the women here. This is the last establishment left... we decided to save it for last." At this, she tightened her eyebrows.

"Last establishment? Isn't the rest of the world like this? Or, at the very least, England..."

"No," Sergio said, shaking his head. "Mauriz's ideas spread for a while... but they were contained, once the shock wore off. There were sixteen establishments all together... run by powerful men with great ambition for the cause. It's taken us this long to shut down the other fifteen. It was only logical to save Mauriz for last, as, if he were defeated... word would spread. The other tyrants would gain support from those men evicted... we couldn't risk that."

"Oh," Hermione said, completely speechless; everything she'd been told was a lie. Harry wasn't dead, Draco wasn't evil, Mauriz was alone in his crime raid and, best of all, there was hope. She would make it through this. "But... if my master is here to save us... why has he chosen a wife? Isn't that a bit hypocritical?" Sergio shrugged a shoulder.

"It would look too suspicious to never marry and still live here... so, he chose one wife. Or, rather, sent me to choose one. I just thought you looked interesting... I didn't know you'd met him before."

"I suppose that makes sense..." she granted, piecing things together. Sergio verified everything Draco was saying throughout their conversations and Hermione felt a new wave of hope. He would get her through this. And, after that, there was no telling.

Suddenly, Sergio stood full from the bed, and hurriedly replaced his sunglasses.

"Sergio?" Hermione asked curiously and he turned to her.

"Thy master has returned, Miss. Ready yourself for your visitor. I wish you luck. Good afternoon," he said quickly, then made his way out the door as if it were a sacrilege to be seen in her room. Hermione watched for a moment, flustered, but then realized the impact of his words and jumped to her feet. She hid the dirty pair of shorts under her pillow, then smoothed the covers before sitting back down. She flattened her hair and crossed her ankles, hoping she looked at least mildly presentable.

It wasn't five minutes before another knock was heard at her door.

A/N: Uncensored version can be found at http:tangledupinblue. 


	4. The Good Part

Erstwhile on TUB:

Suddenly, Sergio stood full from the bed, and hurriedly replaced his sunglasses.

"Sergio?" Hermione asked curiously and he turned to her.

"Thy master has returned, Miss. Ready yourself for your visitor. I wish you luck. Good afternoon," he said quickly, then made his way out the door as if it were a sacrilege to be seen in her room. Hermione watched for a moment, flustered, but then realized the impact of his words and jumped to her feet. She hid the dirty pair of shorts under her pillow, then smoothed the covers before sitting back down. She flattened her hair and crossed her ankles, hoping she looked at least mildly presentable.

It wasn't five minutes before another knock was heard at her door.

-

Chapter Four: The Good Part

Hermione could hardly contain her excitement as she leapt from her bed and bolted toward the door, heart racing. Although Draco had specified it wouldn't be Harry, there was still a small part of Hermione that couldn't help but hope that it would be her raven-haired best friend on the other side of the door. After taking a calming breath, she turned the glass knob, eyes trained on the wooden floor.

"Hermione?" asked a very familiar voice, and she looked up quickly. Hermione let out a squeal as she threw her arms around her visitor, laughing.

"Neville!" she cried, pulling back to look at him, grinning. "I can't believe it's you!" True to form, Neville looked troubled.

"You can't? Oh, um... ask me something only I would know," he suggested, gently taking her hands from his shoulders. "And you really shouldn't hug a person if you're not even sure of who they are," he continued sternly. Hermione laughed out loud and hugged him again, then pulled him into the room.

"Don't be silly, Neville, of course I know it's you..." she started, but he shook his head and interrupted her.

"Ask me something," he demanded, and Hermione smiled from ear to ear. She was feeling a bubble of emotion start to churn in her stomach. His ignorant persistence would have clearly identified the man as Neville Longbottom, even had she not been sure.

"All right, then..." she agreed, voice soft and slightly misty. "Which ingredient in a sleeping draft determines the length of potency?" Neville's smile dropped suddenly and he blinked.

"What?" he whispered, and Hermione giggled.

"I asked which ingredient in a sleeping draft will determine its potency. Surely you know...?" she said, lifting an eyebrow, and Neville looked panicky.

"Er... uh... snake skin?" he guessed in a quiet voice, eyes closed lightly in hope that he were right. Hermione laughed.

"There isn't even snake skin _in_ a sleeping draft..." she started, but he took her shoulders and interrupted her.

"All right," he said. "I don't know... but I swear it's really me! Ask me anything that doesn't have to do with potions and I'll tell you! Unless of course it's transfiguration... or history of magic... or the password to the common room..." Hermione laughed out loud and shook her head.

"Neville, Neville... I know it's you, calm down. I didn't think you'd really know," she said, but he seemed confused. "If you _weren't_ Neville and I asked you a question you were supposed to know, you'd have answered correctly, although I knew the real Neville wouldn't. See?" He shook his head slowly. "Never mind, then... how have you been?" Neville's bemusement was replaced with pride.

"I've been wonderful," he beamed as Hermione lead him to sit down on the bed. She smiled politely as she listened, sincerely interested. "I'm married... she's a muggle, but her sister went to Hogwarts, and we're expecting a baby sometime in the next two months or so. Her name is Janelle." Hermione placed a hand on his leg and smiled.

"That's wonderful, Neville. I'm so happy for you," she told him honestly. Neville blushed and continued his story.

"We live in London now, ever since the last concur. She was afraid, what with the Morzmen, that's what we call Mauriz's followers, so close, so I moved us. Had to protect her, after all," he said, smiling at the thought of his wife, whom he obviously adored.

"Of course," Hermione said, but she sounded confused. "But... Draco told me about a farmhouse in Canterbury... he said everyone lived together." Neville chuckled.

"Well, not _everyone_... how could seven years of Hogwarts alumni fit into one house, Hermione? Be it six stories or not."

"I hadn't thought of that," she mused, chuckling lightly at the thought, and Neville smiled warmly.

"I used to live there. A lot more of us did right after the war... it's a come and go place; more like a safe hotel. Right now, Harry, Ron, and a lot of others from our year live there... mostly those who haven't found families yet. Janelle's sister lived there when I did; she graduated a year before we would have, good friends with Fred and George... and Ginny. Her sister introduced us, and we courted, married, and moved out."

"Oh, Neville... what happened to Ginny?" Hermione wondered, feeling the emotional swirl thicken in her stomach. She felt nauseous.

"She wasn't sent out with the rest of us..." Neville said solemnly. "She was kept with you and the others, but she bit her first husband when he tried to touch her and they sent her to a different establishment... a harsher one, if you can imagine. It was one of our first few targets, because of that. It was like a dominion... they had whips and chains..." he shuttered. "It was horrible. Ginny was lucky, though... she was married to one of our inside guys fairly quickly, so she only had to go through a few months of the real thing, then almost a year in Seamus' care before we took the place down." Hermione nodded sadly.

"Well, that's good, then..." she said softly, and Neville nodded.

"She lives at the farmhouse now, with Ron and everyone... didn't change her one bit. She has a few scars and occasionally will spend an entire day or two in her room, but for the most part she's as chipper as ever. Good thing, too... if he'd lost Ginny too, I don't know what Ron would've done."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Neville said, smiling crookedly. "Everyone thought you were dead, Hermione. Harry was sure as the sun that Mauriz would have killed you the first chance he got... no one dared disagree. Ron took it hard, that's all I'm saying. Of course, Harry was pretty much devastated. I think he loves you, myself. He didn't want to do anything for the longest time... just moped around. And then we got the house, and he stayed in his room for weeks at a time without coming out, even for dinner. Ron was generally quiet and withdrawn, but Harry was practically dead on his feet. He wouldn't have even helped in the defeats had we not persuaded him to do it for you. You're his everything, Hermione. Always were, and still are." Hermione ignored the few tears that escaped from her eyes, but Neville looked to them with concern. He tried to apologize, but she shook her head.

"What did he say when Draco said he found me?" she asked smiling with salty lips. Neville smirked knowingly.

"He bloody near passed out. Had to sit him down and fan him with magazines for a good quarter hour," he said and Hermione giggled softly, sniffling as she wiped her eyes. "Then, when the shock wore off, he demanded to come and see you. Punched Draco in the eye when he suggested otherwise. It took a unified effort for us to calm the both of them down, and it was only after we brought up the matter of your safety would Harry listen to reason. If he barged in here and just started knocking on doors until he found you, it'd look a bit suspicious. Mauriz would catch on, and head us off before we could surprise him. Then he probably _would_ kill you. Obviously, this scared Harry into being rational. He wrote you a letter, though," Neville said, fishing in his back pocket for a folded piece of parchment. "I didn't read it," he promised as he handed it to her, and Hermione took it lovingly in her hands, cradling it to her chest.

She wouldn't jeopardize her time with Neville by reading and, most probably, crying for the rest of their meeting. Neither knew how long he'd be there, but it wouldn't be forever. Hermione would have liked to be alone with Harry, anyway- or at least his written word. She did open it, however, to see his familiar handwriting, blurry near the end where the ink hadn't had time to dry. New tears welled up in her eyes regardless of her promise. Hermione turned her face away from the letter and looked back to Neville with a smile. He was observing her a bit uncomfortably, smiling guiltily.

"Neville," she said softly, and he perked a bit, eager to listen. "Why doesn't Mauriz KNOW you all condemned the other establishments? Wouldn't he have noticed?" Neville shook his head.

"It's pure luck on our part, really. Mauriz is a bloody lazy git. He hasn't left this building since the war; sends servants out to get food for the castle, buy him things, check the other establishments. Luckily, they're always women. They usually don't put up much of a fuss about lying, so we just send them back with false information and send Mauriz forged letters to prove it. He's complacent as a clam up in Dumbledore's office waiting on his brides, and doesn't even notice we've got spies right under his nose. He's a bloody idiot; I have no idea how he managed to keep all this up," Neville said, shaking his head.

"That seems awfully risky..." Hermione stated, and Neville nodded.

"Very much so, but we have no other plan," he said, then smiled. "We don't have anyone as smart as you on the outside." Hermione smiled softly at the compliment, then turned her eyes back to the floor, frowning. Neville soon shared her mood. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I've been incredibly insensitive," he realized, frowning. "I always do that... here you are, completely miserable, and I come and start talking about my wife and the farm house..." he sighed. "I'm as much an idiot now as I was in school."

"No, Neville... you've been wonderful. I've desperately needed such company and if it couldn't be Harry or Ron, I'm glad it was you," she corrected honestly, and Neville blushed. There was a semi-awkward pause, which was broken by a knock on the door. Hermione straightened in alarm and shared a look with Neville. "Yes?" she called, and the door cracked open, revealing Sergio, dressed in his suit and sunglasses. He bowed from the doorway and remained professional.

"I am sorry to disturb you, but Master Mauriz has requested your judgment on the... accommodations, Mr. Lanwitz. He wishes you to report to his office as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Sergio," Neville said to the butler, then turned slightly to Hermione. "Lanwitz is the name I use so's not to raise suspicion. I really am Neville." She giggled softly and nodded. "I'll be there in two shakes," he then spoke to the man in the doorway.

Sergio bowed slightly and smiled at Hermione, then closed the door again, leaving her to heave a heavy sigh.

"I'd better go," Neville said solemnly, standing from the bed. Hermione gently placed her letter on the mattress and stood beside him, nodding slowly. "I'm glad to see you're alright... for the most part." She smiled at him and nodded her thanks. "It'll be better now," he promised, pulling her into a hug of his own. "Draco will take care of you until we can make some more... permanent arrangements." He pulled away with a smile and Hermione nodded. "He won't make you do anything you don't want to. You can sleep all day or lounge in the bathtub... you'll almost hate to leave." Hermione laughed softly.

"I doubt that last bit. Thank you so much, Neville," she said and placed a kiss on his cheek. He blushed and started toward the door with his host in toe. "What will you tell Mauriz?" she asked softly, and Neville turned back, smiling.

"We've already rehearsed it. I'm going to tell him that I have my eye on a girl from Starmean, which we have already taken over, and that I plan to take my business there, but if something were to change, this would be my next choice."

"And he'll buy that?"

"Of course," Neville assured. "He's a complete idiot. Trust me." Hermione nodded as he opened the door, and he sighed. "Take care of yourself, Hermione. Harry is counting on you." And in a moment, he was gone.

Hermione felt herself immediately breaking down. When Neville had been with her, it was easy to forget the truth and imagine she were simply having tea and would see him again soon. Now that he was gone, reality weighed her down. Hermione sunk back onto her bed and hung her head, allowing the coursing emotion to wash over her. She had never missed her friends as much as she did now, now that she had been given one only to have them taken away again.

It was then that she remembered Harry's letter. After mopping damp eyes with her fingertips, Hermione quickly picked up her letter and gently opened it.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I can't even imagine where to start. It doesn't help that I don't have very long to think. I'm speechless as it is; I've only just been told that Draco found you. The first thing that comes to mind to say is that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have accepted you as dead and given up... I should have gone looking. Everything you've been through is completely my fault, and I won't tolerate you telling me otherwise._

_Everyone misses you, Hermione. Ron and I the most. He's baking cookies with Ginny and Teige right now, if you can believe it, and if I'm not mistaken, I think he might be whistling. Teige is Neville's wife's sister; she's like our clan mother. You'll meet her, I promise, and you'll get along famously. She reminds everyone of you... I myself have slipped and called her Mione before. _

_Now I'm just rambling, and Neville is begging me to hurry up. I'm sending him to see you, and I'm not sure why. It's just a feeling. I know you were rather fond of Neville and I don't think you'll disapprove. Merlin, there's so much I want to tell you; it's tearing me up, knowing you're out there and I can't see you. I promise we'll get you out soon; I've never been so determined. If I weren't here writing, I'd be coming up with a plan of attack. _

_I want to tell you one last thing before Draco breaks my quill. He's risking a lot even leaving like this, you know. It's technically unorthodox for any of the husbands to ever leave; I have no idea what he's going to use an excuse. But he's clever, he'll think of something. Come to think of it, this must be pretty odd for you, isn't it? Last time I saw you, we all hated Malfoy. I can't really say he's changed, it's more like we understand each other now. We're on common ground; there's nothing to fight over. I am fairly confident he's gotten over his muggle-born phobia, so you shouldn't have any problems, but once you come home you tell me anything he said to upset you. It's not that I don't trust Draco, I'm just not sure where he stands. _

_But here I am rambling again, and about Malfoy of all people. Back to that last thing I wanted to say; Hermione, I love you. I know, that's like the most radical thing you've ever heard, but I swear it's true. And it has been, for so long... I was just afraid. Afraid of what you'd say, afraid for our friendship; afraid of rejection. But then, I thought I lost you, and it spun my perspective. I thought I'd never get to tell you, and I know this isn't exactly the most romantic way to do it, but I couldn't let another opportunity slip away. I can't let you just pass through my fingers again. I love you, Hermione Granger, and over my dead body will you ever come to more harm. Take care of yourself for me. _

_All my love,_

_Harry_

Hermione curled into a ball on her bed, clutching the letter to her chest. She let her cheek rest against the feather pillow and cried. She cried for herself, she cried for Harry, for Harry's pain, for Ron, for everything. She would give anything to tell Harry that she loved him too, even if the thought had never crossed her mind. After all that time apart, and the stories of his agony over her loss, she would give her life to simply ease his mind. Her escapades with Mauriz and the Morzmen, as Neville so aptly called them, had broken her from any thought that to be with someone you had to love them. She would give the world to be with Harry; to let him hold her, and kiss her, and do anything he wanted. It would be so different from anyone else; it would mean so much more. Harry would never hurt her.

Hermione soon drifted to sleep, to light dreams of purple snow. She was woken lightly by the ringing of a tiny bell, somewhere far away. She opened her eyes to realize it was her summoning bell, hanging innocently above the door. It was then that she remembered the true mechanics of her life as is; she was married to Draco Malfoy, as far as anyone here was concerned. He was summoning her. She had no choice but to answer him. And, in that moment, Hermione could care less that he was her only ticket to a semi-comfortable life and ultimate freedom; he was a bastard.

She knocked on his door minutes later, hair ruffled and eyes red. Hermione felt nothing pulling herself toward cleaning up for Draco. He would just have to take her as she was.

The door opened, but her husband dashed away without greeting, darting to the table beside his chair and stamping out a cigar stub. She wrinkled her nose and stepped inside.

"Did you need something?" she asked sourly, and he turned around. Hermione frowned immediately when she saw him, feeling a twinge of pity. She was beginning to regret her malicious thoughts; Draco was developing a good bruise around his left eye, hidden only partially by his hair. He quickly approached her, pushing her gently to the side as to close the door. She glared lightly and he offered her a smile.

"Wouldn't want anyone to overhear..." he explained, but she looked less than amused.

"Why did you call me?" Hermione asked, casually crossing her arms, eyes trained on the floor. Draco noticed her sour mood, but thought better of questioning her and opted instead to play dumb.

"I just thought you'd want something to eat; I doubt if you ate even slop for lunch," he said, backing toward the tray by the hearth, which that morning had sported breakfast. Hermione frowned, feeling somewhat guilty. She'd accused him of intentions much worse than wishing to FEED her.

"That's it?" she questioned, almost hoping for a continuation with much less innocence. Draco shrugged his shoulders, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Yep. I was going to ask you how things went with Neville," he admitted, frowning a bit. "But you don't look as if you'd like to talk about it." Hermione subconsciously brought a hand to her hair, smoothing it down as best she could. She was beginning to wish she'd freshened up.

"Oh..." she said, almost panicky, with a pout to her lips. "I must look horrid." Draco shook his head as he watched her try to wipe the redness from her eyes.

"Not horrid..." he corrected. "Just distraught." Hermione, fully over whatever had caused her to spite him, smiled embarrassedly.

"I was reading Harry's letter..." she explained. "I'm a little overemotional." Draco chuckled.

"Never would've thought," he teased, then started back toward the hearth. "So... hungry?" Hermione shook her head.

"Honestly, no... I'm not."

Draco, who was stirring the coals below the stew pot on the fire, turned to her and lifted an eyebrow.

"_Did _you eat the slop?" he asked, sounding surprised, and Hermione giggled.

"No, I just..."

"In that case," Draco interrupted, "Go sit down, because I'm feeding you anyway." Hermione smirked and crossed her arms.

"And why is that, exactly?" she questioned and Draco chuckled, pouring her a bowl of stew.

"Because if I let you starve to death, Harry's going to give me a lot more than a black eye," he said, shoving the bowl toward her. She took it with little resistance, but the frown replaced itself on her lips.

"Neville told me about that..." she said softly. "Are you alright?" Draco nodded passively.

"I think I'll live. Can't really blame the guy; always was the jealous sort," he said, watching as she journeyed to and seated herself upon his bed. The chair by the cigar box was at the moment overloaded with papers and a sack of flu power, as he wasn't going to risk leaving again. "He would stab HIMSELF just to stand as close to you as I am right now. Maybe twice." Hermione shuttered.

"Oh, don't say that... it's horrible," she said, shifting, but Draco shrugged his shoulders, coming to the other side of the bed with a bowl of stew for himself.

"I think it's true," he persisted, and Hermione stared idly at her soup, nudging it with a spoon.

"How many times do you think it'd take to sleep with me?" she wondered softly, and distinctly noticed that Draco's spoon became idle. There was a lengthy pause before he sighed, placing the bowl in his lap.

"About that..." he started and Hermione listened silently, prodding the chunks of beef. "I am so sorry. I really don't know what I was thinking when..." Draco sighed. "That's a lie. I know exactly what I was thinking, I just have no idea what made me think it would work." Hermione turned to him innocently, eyes curiously wide.

"What were you thinking?" she asked softly and Draco suffered a small smile, eyes trained on his stew.

"I thought you'd trust me... you seemed so broken and abused; I thought if I were gentle and I showed you that it didn't always have to be unbearable, you'd realize I wasn't like them... but it completely backfired. What you said this morning was completely justified, Hermione. I acted just like them, and I apologize. For seducing you, for yelling at you... and for scaring you. I really didn't mean..." he sighed again and shook his head, ending the apology with a well-placed carrot to his tongue. Hermione nodded.

"I accept your apology, but you're not entirely to blame... I could've..."

"You could've what?" he asked slightly icily, though it seemed not to be directed toward her. "When was the last time you pushed a man away?" Hermione hung her head in shame.

"Never..." she whispered, and Draco sighed.

"Exactly. It was my fault. Leave it there."

"If it makes you feel any better..." Hermione started, peering at him sideways. A deep blush made its way to her cheeks before she even finished her sentence. "I did enjoy it." A smug smirk quickly adorned Draco's face.

"Really?" he asked and Hermione nodded.

"I've never... you know... before," she admitted, turning her face away, and Draco looked confused.

"You've never what? Had sex? But..."

"No, of course I have... the good part," she corrected, trying to remain vague and still get her point across. Draco stared for a moment, but then a brand new smirk grew from his pouty lips. Hermione blushed scarlet.

"Really? How did you manage that?"

"Well," Hermione said, laughing. "Few of my other partners were thinking much of me during our interludes..." she said. "It was usually too fast for me. Just unlucky, I guess."

"I'd say so," Draco agreed. Her confession HAD made him feel better; he'd at least pleasured her. It wasn't all a complete waste. While he continued to eat his stew and bask in revelations, Hermione sighed sadly. Draco turned to her, frowning. "What?" he prodded gently, and Hermione suffered a tiny smile.

"I just don't know how I'm going to tell Harry..." she said softly. Draco's spoon hit his bowl with a clang.

"You can't tell Harry."

"I have to..." Hermione said, turning to face him, but Draco shook his head, placing the bowl on the table beside him. He took her by the shoulders.

"No. You can't. It would benefit no one. Do you want to hurt him like that?" Draco rationalized and Hermione refused to look him in the eye.

"But... it'd be lying..."

"No it wouldn't. Harry isn't going to ask for names, Hermione. In fact I'd be surprised if he asked you about it at all; he knows how hard it's been, and he blames himself. He's not going to rub his own face in it," he said. Hermione turned her eyes upward, meeting his gaze.

"But what if he does? What if he swears revenge, or something?" she asked nervously, unsurprised by Draco's shaking head.

"Leave me out. Say you can't remember all of them... it wouldn't really be a lie. Please, Hermione..."

Hermione's eyes fell to the bedspread and she fought to hold back tears. She'd opened a Watergate this afternoon and it didn't seem to want to stay closed. It didn't help that she didn't like what Draco was trying to do, but he sounded so desperate.

"What if he asks about you specifically? I don't know if I can say no right to his face, Draco... I've never lied to Harry before," she admitted, and Draco slumped his shoulders.

"All right..." he compromised, letting his hands melt from her shoulders. "If he asks specifically." Draco didn't sound as if he like the prospect at all. There was simply too much chance that Harry would find out. And he didn't like that chance.

"Draco," Hermione said after a period of silence, and the blond flashed his eyes toward her. "Why do you care so much? Other than the fact that he'll probably decapitate you in your sleep..." Draco gave a course chuckle.

"_That_ hadn't even crossed my mind," he said and sighed. "You have no idea how much and how long it took for me to get them to trust me even the tiniest bit, Hermione... And, as hard as it may be to believe, I value that trust over almost everything. I don't want to be just Ferret-boy Malfoy to you again. I screwed up, I can admit that... but I don't think Harry would forgive me, and I don't blame him."

"Oh, Draco..." Hermione whispered, reaching a comforting hand to place on his shoulder. "I had no idea, I..." Draco just shook his head and smiled at her.

"You have no fault here, Hermione. If a time comes when you feel you need to tell Harry, then feel free to do so. I will take responsibility for my actions. Until then, just try not to think too much about it... it'll just make it harder for you." There was a long and uncomfortable pause, born from an awkward situation. Hermione took it upon herself to break it.

"Tell me about the farmhouse," she requested, turning her attention to the stew inside her bowl. Draco smiled softly, grateful for the change in topic.

"All right."

A/N: Uncensored version can be found at http:tangledupinblue. 


	5. Cigars

Erstwhile on TUB:

"You have no idea how much and how long it took for me to get them to trust me even the tiniest bit, Hermione... And, as hard as it may be to believe, I value that trust over almost everything. I don't want to be just Ferret- boy Malfoy to you again. I screwed up, I can admit that... but I don't think Harry would forgive me, and I don't blame him."

"Oh, Draco..." Hermione whispered, reaching a comforting hand to place on his shoulder. "I had no idea, I..." Draco just shook his head and smiled at her.

"You have no fault here, Hermione. If a time comes when you feel you need to tell Harry, then feel free to do so. I will take responsibility for my actions. Until then, just try not to think too much about it... it'll just make it harder for you." There was a long and uncomfortable pause, born from an awkward situation. Hermione took it upon herself to break it.

"Tell me about the farmhouse," she requested, turning her attention to the stew inside her bowl. Draco smiled softly, grateful for the change in topic.

"All right."

-

Chapter Five: Cigars

Draco and Hermione talked for hours, sharing thoughts and opinions on anything the other said. There was an air of comfort that slowly settled upon them; both felt like they could relax, say anything.

As requested, the conversation started surrounding the farmhouse and it's occupants. Draco told her that everyone had reappeared in the same place, quite far from the constraints of the castle, and most had found a way to get home. Harry, himself, and a few others felt no reason to do so, and so lived in a collected group. It had been hard on all of them, as they'd been shocked by the occurrence and shaken over the loss of loved ones. To some, this included Voldemort. All the death eaters had dissolved into thin air, but without the violet snow. It was soon discovered that they were really gone; dead or in purgatory, no one could say, but definitely not of the earthly existence. The small group of stragglers with no family to attend, including Harry, Draco, and many others, looked to each other for stability.

Therefore, they had worked together and combined effort. The farmhouse was purchased, and gradually became a Hogwarts' alumni bed and breakfast. Although shaky with relationships, the group began to establish a routine and gained a bit more solidity in their collective lives. All thoughts of Mauriz and that situation were put on hold, and it wasn't until the fifteenth establishment celebrated its grand opening that anyone spoke up.

Ironically or not, it was Janelle who was the first to even suggest such a thing. Had she been a witch, Janelle would have been well into her third year at Hogwarts when the attack changed everything. Teige, her sister, had graduated the year before Hermione would have, and was a frequent visitor at Farmhouse a la Hogwarts. She felt connected to those hurt and lost in the struggle, and volunteered most of her life to helping them. Teige helped fix up and maintain the farmhouse, provide funds when money was tight, and keep everyone in good spirits. She was a lifesaver.

One day, Janelle had tagged along. Teige had promised to have a look at the pipes in hopes that she would know a spell to stop the rusty water problem they were having, and had fallen to last minute babysitting. So, although she was a muggle (how ever well educated in the ideals of magic), Janelle was welcomed into the home with open arms. Teige fixed the pipes, and they two had stayed for dinner. Neville had solemnly announced the celebration heard on the broadcaster, and all bowed their heads in respect. When the silence passed and someone asked for butter, Janelle stood up.

"That's it?" she had asked them, gaining the attention of everyone at the table. "You just think on it for a second and go back to your lives? There are PEOPLE out there, people you KNOW who need your help, and all you do is sit pretty here in your little house? Why doesn't anybody DO something?"

"Janelle!" Teige scolded, but Justin Flinch-Fletchley stood in her defense.

"No, she's right. We could do it... we could at least _try_..."

"Wait, wait... I don't know about this," Ron commented, looking quite nervous at the mere thought. Justin turned to him, determined.

"What would you do to get Ginny back, Ron?" he asked, and Ron paled considerably.

"Justin," Harry admonished, defending his friend. Ron was now silent, staring idly at the table, but Justin paid him no mind. He turned his heated gaze to Harry.

"What about Hermione?" he reminded, voice sharp. Harry looked as if he'd lost the ability to live; his eyes turned blank, and his face lost all expression. Most of the others chorused disapproving remarks at Justin; it was common knowledge that Hermione was a touchy subject. Especially with Harry. "Well it's true! Why wouldn't you want to just try?"

This was the point where Harry broke away from society. He stood from the table and muttered, "Hermione... is dead," before stalking to his room and closing the door behind him. He didn't come back out for days.

"Well," stated Morag MacDougal as she stood and began to clear the dishes. "Who wants dessert?"

"That's how it all started," Draco said as he sat beside Hermione, gazing toward the open window at the stars, sharp against the night sky. "After that, we started sending out men, mostly those in lower years without much connection to anything, but there were a good number of us who had been neutral, Hufflepuff mostly, and we sent them out as well. For the longest time all we could hope to do was gather information; see how everything worked, find out who was being harmed and for what... things like that. The thing was, we didn't have a lot of manpower back then. It was just our class and a few who had already graduated: a lot of Weasleys. All the younger students went home to their parents... and then went back off to school. We started fighting back after about a year, and that left us with just ourselves and a few undergrad orphans who thought more of the cause then their education. Ginny's class was half way through their seventh year."

"Hm..." Hermione answered softly, eyes trained on his face. He looked serene, speaking monotonously. "I actually think I understand. I read a book like this once..." Draco chuckled softly, a smile contorting his lips.

"You're sounding more and more like I remember every time you speak."

"I'm sure I sound exactly the same," Hermione retorted, smiling softly at the cheery atmosphere. "You hardly knew me."

"Of course, I can't argue. What was this book about? Perhaps it could prove useful," he asked, partially out of interest, and partially to turn the conversation away from old farm life. It hadn't been as peaches and cream as he had described, and he hardly wanted to relive it.

"Oh, I don't know. Something about evil children lost in a forest of candy canes... and they started a thousand fires, which the adults tried to put out, but it was ironic because the demon arsons were more organized than the adults, and there were some casualties," she said softly, trying to remember more detail. Draco sighed when she finished, but not out of boredom or spite.

"I'm surprised at you, honestly. I was expecting more than a plot summary."

"Well, forgive me. I haven't read anything but the label on my spoon since I shut my transfiguration book and made my way to the great hall," she said sadly, as if speaking of a lost relative. Draco had no input to such a comment and therefore remained silent, hoping for something to break the tension. "What I don't understand," Hermione said, dismissing her sadness. "Is how you all got to be such good mates so quickly." Draco debating feeling relieved. He didn't want silence, but he most certainly didn't want this either.

"It didn't happen overnight... it was more complicated. There was Harry, me, Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe, Neville, Ron after a check-in at the burrow, and Justin Flinch-Fletchley left with no where to go. Well, and a lot of other Slytherin, but they all either went home with someone else or found another relative. Some of them were lucky: take my parents for instance; they were both full-fledged, dark marked, blood thirsty deatheaters. Pansy Parkinson's mother, however, was not, although her father was. Therefore, she remained when her husband dissolved.

As Slytherin are definitely evil blood sucking death traps who cannot under any circumstances be trusted, Justin teamed up with your boys and we had ourselves a Hogwarts' style separation of powers. However, we were all each other had. Therefore, because most of us were dead broke, we had to work together to avoid sleeping in public shelters. Once we spent the night at Harry's uncle's house... just so we could scare them into lending us some money. We did pay them back, although everyone but Harry said we shouldn't have."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Hermione interrupted, holding up a finger. "You were broke? You have to be kidding me! What about..."

"Technically, there was no proof that any of the deatheaters had died, therefore, I, as well as my comrades, received no inheritance from such an occurrence. Harry's Gringotts account was our primary source of revenue. He himself was honestly too depressed to care about anything, much less who his money went to, but the rest of the Gryffindor and Justin refused to give us much of anything. True, they were Gryffindor, so they couldn't let us just starve to death, therefore we were sure to employ elsewhere and contribute to the pot, earning ourselves equal share."

"You worked?" Hermione asked, eyes bright. "That's priceless... where?"

"Me? I had the most honorable duty of mucking out the Diagon Alley Owlry four nights a week, for almost a year. Terrible, isn't it?"

"Oh, lord yes!" Hermione agreed, but succumbed to laughter a moment later. "What happened then?"

"Well, after a while, more people caught on and those who left for home returned to help us. Once we had well over enough, we bought the farmhouse. It didn't really take long, what with everyone contributing everything. Then, people started visiting... a lot in the summer, less during school. Gradually, people moved out and people moved in. We're a pretty big group now."

"Hm..." Hermione thought aloud, wheels tinkering in her mind. "That still sounds fairly easy. I doubt I'd have trusted you after you'd only given your word and spared a paycheck once a week." Draco sighed again, this time in mild frustration.

"I'm not going to lie to you; it was a bitch. The Gryffindor took it upon themselves to be the primary superiors, and seemed to think we were just freeloading. No matter what we said or how we acted, they wouldn't believe that we were taking the defeats just as hard as they were. And, if they did consider it, their replies were always 'Oh, poor Slytherin, lost your little Dark Lord. We offer endless condolence.' And, well, that's not what we wanted. This caused a problem, because, as you probably know, most of my housemates and I have pretty quick tempers. I'll admit there were a few black eyes and bloody noses.

I'm not knocking the Gryffindor for being cautious; I'm just saying they didn't give us a fair benefit. Even if ninety percent of us wouldn't admit it, even under imperious, most of the Slytherin respected Dumbledore. If they didn't, we'd all have been suspended. To tell you the truth, there were a bunch of us who used to talk about what it would be like if Voldemort _didn't_ take over... and if that was really worse than the surefire life imprisonment in his ranks. When it happened, then, our immediate choice was to cooperate with Dumbledore. Don't look at me like that, I'm not making this up. Think about it... there's this guy who we've been taught to respect and look up to for our entire lives. He's like our god, he can do no evil. Then, this new power comes in and completely destroys our Lord. Despite the fact that his intentions are our exact opposite, the man still defeated the only being we saw as immortal. Our basic line of thinking was, if he can do that to Voldemort, what's he going to do if I step out of line? Not that we really feared Dumbledore... old coots harmless unless provoked, we just didn't want to cause trouble. If Mauriz hadn't turned around and killed the bloke, wizarding peace may very well have been a possibility. Of course, saying that every Slytherin thought this way is absurd, but a lot more than you'd think did."

Hermione remained silent through his ramblings, simply listening, with fierce attentiveness. Her mind absorbed the information and placed it in the folder she marked for extra special memories. The day Draco Malfoy told all. Secrets of the Slytherin. Dungeon Disclosures.

"So, you wouldn't have conspired and taken down the light world?"

"Probably not. Most of us evil gits aren't as ambitious as Voldemort was. I was almost sick of seeing him come back every time someone killed him... it's just not right, honestly. And if I were in that rough of a shape, I'm sure I'd have killed MYSELF and saved everyone else the trouble," Draco admitted, and Hermione let herself enjoy his humor, laughing lightly. "But, what I've told you doesn't really support my point... let me try once more," Draco said, and Hermione smiled as she waited for him to continue. "For future reference, my point is that the Slytherin were just as effected by the takeover as the Gryffindor. Now, why? Because, as I've said, with Voldemort gone we looked up to Dumbledore. He was the one person looking after us, protecting us then. And Mauriz turned around without a word and killed the last bit of decency we had left. Obviously, we were quite touched by this. And then, he attempted to kill all of us. This did nothing to improve our thoughts of him.

Now, the Gryffindor didn't believe us because we weren't all sappy and depressed. Almost none of the Slytherin women were good enough to stay with him, and therefore most of us knew no one in any of the establishments, so we had no reason to be poignant. Instead... we were angry. And rash. And, at times, dangerous. This did little to boost our moral. While they hugged, we'd piss and moan and punch things. All and all not very polite or courteous."

"So basically... once Mauriz took over, you lot were stranded, broken into separate groups, had a glorious feud in which you both paid each other, and then slowly became friends and now live like a prayer group in your own little motel?" Hermione summed up, and Draco laughed.

"I suppose, yes, although that's an interesting point of view," he agreed, turning toward her. Draco's first thought was how completely exhausted she looked; as if it were a chore to remain conscious. "Are you all right?" Hermione nodded quite convincingly, running her thumb over a drooping eyelid.

"Rather late for me, is all," she admitted. "And what with all the excitement today..."

"Why don't you run off, then? We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow, if you still have questions," he suggested, not at all opposed to entering a place where his eye wouldn't sting so badly. Hermione looked confused.

"You're not going home tomorrow?" she asked, and Draco chuckled, shaking his head.

"No... I can't very well go walking around with a black eye, can I? Can't have people thinking you'd done it... and in theory, I'm not supposed to leave."

"Oh... right. Harry said something about that," Hermione remembered, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. There was a silence obstructed only by the crackling fire, and Draco watched his wife curiously. She was simply sitting there, as if in a different world.

"Hermione? Any time you're ready," he reminded, and she turned to him slowly, not at all startled.

"It's just so odd..." she said softly, and Draco gave a lop-sided smile.

"I know. I'm sure it'll be better in a few weeks, when everything settles down and we think of something to do."

"How long, do you think?" Hermione asked, and Draco's face grew sad.

"I wish I could tell you. It took a year to overcome Ginny's establishment... but that was with a thousand less men and no experience under our belts. But, at the same time... this IS Mauriz we're talking about," he leveled, gesturing with his hands at the weight of each factor. "Well," Draco continued, adding some imaginary pellets to his first hand. "At the same time, Harry's more worried about you than the aspect of getting rid of Mauriz... he might do something stupid. There's too much going both ways; I can hardly give you an estimate." Hermione nodded softly and stood from the bed, moving slowly toward the door. "Goodnight, Granger." She stopped in her step, for a moment overcome with nostalgia.

"Goodnight, Draco," Hermione granted, before finishing her trip to the door and slipping soundlessly into the hallway.

Hermione was startled awake the next morning by the high pitched cling of her summoning bell. With barely any emotion, she went through her mediocre routine. She hadn't showered or done anything more than dressed, anxious about being late. When she stepped up to Draco's door, she knocked politely.

"Come in," he called from inside and, although slightly surprised, Hermione did as requested. Draco was sitting Indian-style on his bed, surrounded by piles of paper and parchment. He was concentrating hard, reading a document covered with notations by the inch. He paid her nearly no mind, except that he seemed to be rushing through whatever it was he was studying, and Hermione was allowed to apply all sense to the scenery. Her first reaction to entering the room, was a strong urge to cough, brought forth by the potent aroma dispersed in the room. Draco looked up as he heard her stifle a tiny convulsion, although his finger was placed an inch or so above the bottom of the page. Hermione stood still in the doorway, hand over her mouth as she fought to break out in a fit, with teary eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry," Draco said and abandoned his parchment, swinging his legs off the bed. He was already dressed and primed, although Hermione knew as of the night before that he had nowhere to go and no one to see, with the trivial exception of herself.

Draco shuffled across the room to the table by his chair, which was now almost half as full as it had been before. Hermione, always perceptive, concluded that he had been sifting through the documents laid there when he had returned from his meeting with Harry.

When he reached the tiny table, Draco was quick to extinguish the three burning cigars that rested there, dripping their ashes into the glass bowl they were stationed within. He turned back to Hermione then, smiling sheepishly, but she frowned at him.

"You shouldn't smoke, you know," she said, however softly, and removed the hand shielding her nose. "It's terrible for you." Draco smiled genuinely as he made his way back to his bed-top perch.

"I don't," he informed, scanning his half finished document to find the place he'd stopped. "I just burn them; it calms me."

"All in the same," she corrected him, voice trailing down. It was then that Draco noticed she hadn't moved since she'd arrived, standing neatly in one spot as if waiting for instructions.

"You can have a seat, Hermione... just move something," he said, triumphantly placing a finger on a word and silently trailing it along the row as he read the statements. Hermione, not about to be inhospitable, pattered toward the bed and moved only a single folder, taking its place softly, as if not to disturb him. She hadn't given herself much room and was barely on the bed, but was seated nonetheless. Hermione waited patiently as Draco finished his document and every so often made minor notes on a separate sheet. When he did finish, he looked up at her again, placing the letter on a growing pile beside him. "Hate to leave things unfinished," he explained, but said nothing further, merely sharing eye contact and smiling pleasantly. Hermione, a bit uncomfortable in such a warm silence, averted her eyes. She herself was confused; last night she had been so comfortable with him, and today she was jumpy and nervous. Perhaps it was the night-induced drunkenness that allowed her to be calm.

"Why did you call me?" she asked softly, with none of the malice or anger she had the previous day. Draco raised his eyebrows, as if surprised.

"Oh, right. A couple things, actually," he admitted, sitting straighter. "First, please know that you are not obligated to come at my beck and call. Think of it as less of a summoning and more of an invitation; if you've other things to do, don't bother. If you don't come I'm not about to call again, unless it were something important... and I don't expect you to be here within seconds; take your time." Hermione, although surprised, was not about to object. "And, if you ever would like to see me, don't hesitate to just come up. My door is always open."

"Thank you," she stated, and Draco nodded his reply.

"Next, I plan on staying in this room for quite some time without chancing a leave again, but I of course have to know what everyone is planning, therefore we've secretly had this fireplace here linked to the flue network, so I may send and receive information. This, however, leaves the pathway open for domestics as well."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, understandably confused at Draco's eluding way of explaining their situation. He grinned and shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly.

"If I can send things to Harry, why can't you?" he stated, making his proposition all the more clear, and Hermione quickly frowned. Her heart fell into her stomach with a deep thud.

"What?" she asked and Draco mistook it for befuddled excitement.

"He's probably waiting by the fireplace as we speak," he said, plucking a blank piece of paper from yet another pile and sacrificing the quill he had been using. He passed the things to Hermione, who took them slowly, as if in a daze. "Thirdly, breakfast. From now on, I expect you to take your meals here, with me. No need to go malnourished if it can be avoided," he demanded, but lightly, as if he expected her to oppose. Hermione, however, did nothing but nod; she was staring at the blank piece of paper as if it were embodied with evil. Draco picked up on this. "Hermione? You all right?" She looked up with moist eyes.

"What do you think Harry would say if I didn't send him anything?" she asked innocently, the quill quaking in her fingertips. He lifted an eyebrow.

"Honestly? I bet he'd accuse me of detaining you and come here with a death warrant," Draco answered, to which Hermione bend her head as if in shame. "...Why?"

"I just don't know what to say..." she explained, voice soft and weak. Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"I'd say you can take your time; he'll understand that."

"But..." Hermione started, but shook her head before continuing. "Yes, of course. Just take my time." Draco eyed her curiously, as if unsure of her intentions. "May I go?" Hermione asked hopefully, looking up at him and Draco's eyebrows flew high.

"I... I don't see why not. But you haven't eaten..."

"I'm really quite full from last night," she elucidated, standing from her slim perch on the bed. "And I'd like to dress first, anyway." Draco gave a single nod as he watched her walk toward the door, holding the paper and quill to her chest.

"Feel free to return if you get hungry," he reminded, and Hermione turned back for just a moment to give him a thankful smile. She then left him to his paperwork, a cloud of dread above her head, shaped oddly like Harry Potter.

-

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	6. Epistle

Erstwhile on TUB:

"May I go?" Hermione asked hopefully, looking up at him and Draco's eyebrows flew high.

"I... I don't see why not. But you haven't eaten..."

"I'm really quite full from last night," she elucidated, standing from her slim perch on the bed. "And I'd like to dress first, anyway." Draco gave a single nod as he watched her walk toward the door, holding the paper and quill to her chest.

"Feel free to return if you get hungry," he reminded, and Hermione turned back for just a moment to give him a thankful smile. She then left him to his paperwork, a cloud of dread above her head, shaped oddly like Harry Potter.

-

Chapter Six: The Epistle

Draco did not hear from Hermione for the rest of the day. She did not return for breakfast, nor lunch or dinner for that matter, and had ignored his two summonses. Draco, respecting her usage of the freedom he had bestowed upon her that morning, did not try overly much to get her to come up, and instead tried to concentrate on his work. Normally, he would have gone to see her, instead of waiting, but the dark discoloring around his eye pushed these thoughts directly out the window. He couldn't afford to be seen like that, and try to explain it. He had no idea what he'd say. If he were to blame it on another man, they could just deny it and use one of their wives as an alibi. To keep Hermione safe, the only man left to accuse was Sergio, and he would surely be fired. Draco couldn't risk that, either. In his state, Sergio was his only connection to the outside world; if something were too dangerous to send through floo, Serge would bring it to him personally.

So, when dawn broke and Draco had not heard a word from his wife, he instead summoned Sergio, who promptly answered.

"Come in, Sergio," Draco said monotonously in response to a knock at his door. He was more than sure it wasn't Hermione.

"Sir," he said as he entered, standing straight with arms to his sides, awaiting orders.

"Will you please ask Miss Hermione if she has finished her letter? I'd rather not leave my quarters for a while."

"Of course, sir. Is that all?"

"Yes, Sergio. Thank you," Draco dismissed, eyes falling back to his sheet of notes. Sergio left promptly on a mission for his master, and arrived at Hermione's quarters within moments. Instead of knocking on the door and waking the entire floor at the ungodly hour of six AM, Sergio slowly opened the door, his left hand covering his eyes.

"Miss?" he called in stage whisper, but was answered with only silence. "Miss Hermione? I'm here by request of your Master..." When, again, no one answered, Sergio braved a peek through his sunglasses. Hermione was curled up in her bed, sleeping fitfully with petite and feminine snores. He sighed and smiled, glad to not have caught her indisposed. Sergio approached the bed and, upon seeing Hermione's cherubic and elegant figure sleeping with hair spread out like a fan behind her, he removed his sunglasses and clipped them to his collar. "Hermione?" he said, a bit louder now that they were alone in a room. When she didn't stir, Sergio placed a hand on her shoulder. "Miss?" he called again, rocking her slightly, and Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She jumped at first glance, pulling the sheets to her chin.

"Sergio!" she called, but he shushed her with a finger to his lips. Hermione lowered her voice. "You frightened me," she explained, and he smiled sheepishly.

"I'm sorry," the butler whispered, and Hermione smiled her forgiveness.

"It's all right," she promised. "What are you doing here? And what time is it?"

"It's about six, miss, and I've been sent by your master."

"Dra... my master? But, why?" Hermione wondered, surprised. She had ignored his summons the day before, but her mind had been full and he'd given her permission not to join him if other matters were more pressing.

"To ask if you've finished the letter, Miss. To the farmhouse, I assume? No doubt they're waiting eagerly for your reply," Sergio explained and Hermione frowned suddenly, dropping her hands into her lap.

"Oh..." she offered. Sergio simply grinned at her, standing tall and waiting for her reply. "Why... why didn't he come to ask me himself?" she asked, if just to stall, and Sergio pointed to his face.

"His eye, Miss; doesn't want to be seen. If you'd like to go back to sleep, I'll bring the note to him myself," he suggested, holding out his hand. Hermione forced a smile.

"Oh, no... I've some things to discuss with him anyway, Sergio. If you'd like, you can tell him I'll visit within the hour," Hermione said, and Sergio started for a moment. Then, he dropped his hand and nodded.

"Very well, Miss; I shall deliver your message."

"Thank you, Sergio," Hermione called after the butler, and Sergio nodded and replaced his sunglasses on the way to the door. In a moment, he was off again, and Hermione flopped backward in bed, basking a few more moments in the plush sheets before dragging herself to shower and dress.

As promised, Hermione entered Draco's chambers within an hour of Sergio's visit. He called her in passively, but looked eager when he saw her.

"Hermione," he greeted, immediately putting his papers aside and moving enough things to create a space for her to sit. He gestured with his hand, and Hermione did as she was indirectly asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Draco merely watched her wordlessly, and Hermione kept her eyes to the ground. "Did you finish?" he asked finally and she shook her head.

"I didn't write anything," she admitted, and Draco sighed, as if disappointed. "I just... I can't..." Hermione began, but was cut off before she could stutter farther. Draco moved forward and closer, allowing certain papers and folders to fall to the floor.

"Hey," he said softly, touching her face lightly, just to be comforting. "It's okay... you don't have to write him a book... Just something to let him know you're all right, okay?" Hermione's lip trembled, and she kept her eyes trained on the floor while Draco spoke. "Just," Draco started again. "... Just say that I'm treating you all right, and tell him you love him; that's all he'd need," he said, voice dropping slightly. Hermione's features contorted at his suggestion, and she turned to enter an embrace. Draco, although slightly taken off guard, held her while she let out a few pent-up feelings. He comforted and shushed her as he would any other distraught woman, and allowed her all the time she needed. Even when Hermione was devoid of tears and able to speak, she didn't pull back.

"Draco..." she started, sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes. "I don't... I don't love Harry." Draco's eyebrows shot up and he began to rub her back comfortingly.

"You don't?" he asked softly, and Hermione shook her head, voice steady.

"What am I supposed to do? I can't lie... not about that. He'd hate me for it... I don't want him to hate me, Draco."

"Hermione," Draco reasoned. "How do you KNOW you don't love him? You haven't seen him in a long time; he's changed a lot since then. You might, and not even know it," he said, frowning into her hair. She sniffled again.

"Maybe... but I don't now. I can't tell him I do, if I might not..."

"Well, don't. He'll be so distracted to hear from you, he won't notice. Just say you miss him, Hermione. Harry'd be just as happy, you just have to write him something; you know how much it means to him," Draco coached softly, and Hermione nodded, pulling back from his embrace. She shielded her mouth with her hand and nodded.

"I know..."

"Hey, why don't you stay here with me today?" Draco suggested, keeping a comforting hand on her back. "I missed your company." Hermione crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned forward, nodding softly.

"Of course," she agreed, smiling, and Draco offered one in return. He reached into the pile beside him and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, handing it to his bride. Hermione received his meaning and took the paper from him, and a quill that was later offered. She wasted not a moment before she began writing, letting the forced words flow as evenly as possible.

"Draco," Hermione said nearly an hour later, lifting her head to view his face. He was bent over his own work, scribbling with flourish and concentrating, but looked up almost immediately at her voice. "I... think I'm finished." Draco grinned.

"Brilliant," he said, putting his document to the side, and swinging his legs off the bed. "We can send it right away; I waited with my shipment. They're probably worried sick." Draco didn't seem overly concerned about the thoughts of the people a hundred miles away; he almost seemed happy that they'd be apprehensive. Hermione watched him as he stood, and held up her letter, folded crudely, toward him. Draco smiled reassuringly as he took the frail parchment in his hands. "May I?" he asked and Hermione nodded, turning her eyes to the solid bedspread. Draco tentatively unfolded the brittle parchment, and brought the careful words to his eyes.

_Dear Harry,_

_It's strange to be speaking with you again, after all this time. I've heard tell of the timeline following the original attack, and I want to say that I'm proud of you. I can't honestly say that I could have been that strong; but you were always the brave one, weren't you? Please don't worry too much about me; it's much better now, and Draco has been wonderful. All I'm missing now is a library. _

_I'm still absorbing a lot of information; I had made assumptions after the attack, and I shouldn't have. A number of them were, thankfully, wrong. I never thought I'd hear from you again, Harry. It's much more difficult than you'd imagine, writing this letter. I'll admit I'm crying, and I wouldn't doubt you'd have guessed it. I can't wait to really see you, prove to myself that this isn't all some dream. I hope the day comes soon._

_Before I send this off to you, I want to speak my mind a little on your operation. Of course, my viewpoint is naïve, but I think I have a legitimate concern. I've gotten the feeling, from more than just Draco's addiction to paperwork, that you're all very adamant about getting me out of here and making things right. I can't say I don't want you to do all that, but please be careful, Harry. Take your time; make sure everything is foolproof. I don't want you getting hurt, especially not at my expense. _

_Also, I've been thinking. I hate to say it, Harry, but I don't think this back and forth flooing is a good idea. If anyone intercepted anything, they'd be holding classified information; probably enough to completely head you off. I don't like the odds, and I think it'd be better if Sergio personally delivered things. It might take longer to work things out, and we'd probably hear from each other very infrequently, but I think it's safer, and that is my primal concern. When I first met Draco and learned everything, I wanted nothing more than to get out of here, but you have to be careful. I want to come home, but I want safety and stability first. Take care of yourself, Harry. _

_I miss you, and Ron, and everyone. Send them all my best wishes and, please, tell Neville I said thank you. _

_Hermione_

Draco finished the note and looked up, an ever-present upturn to his lips. Hermione looked embarrassed; she had noticed how scratchy her scrawl had been, born from holding no instruments but spoons. It was legible, and quite elegant, but shaky. Draco assumed that she were nervous more than anything.

"Brilliant," he repeated and folded the letter back in half without commenting on her war tactics. He placed the note atop the stack near the fireplace, and lifting them all into his arms. "Hermione, would you..." Draco started, but Hermione was up in a moment, scooping a handful of greenish powder from the bag on the chair. Draco kept his warm smile. "Thank you," he said, just before she scattered the dust over the flames. He watched them turn a deep emerald, and shouted clearly into the smoke, "HG, BB." The flames grew gold and he threw the pile into the fire bath, watching them be swallowed. Draco turned back to Hermione then, who was fidgeting with her fingers and looking quite confused. "When we hooked it up to the floo, we couldn't call it Farmhouse, because it was already taken; it stands for Hogwarts Bed and Breakfast," he explained, and she laughed softly, turning to stare at the now normal fire, licking the logs almost seductively, and leaving a trail of ashen pain in their wake. "All right?" Draco asked, and she nodded.

"Yes; I think I'm going to be fine."

Hermione, as promised, spent the rest of the day with Draco. He did a lot of paperwork, and she consumed a multitude of hot tea. When they did talk, it was trivial and unimportant; for the most part, they opted for comfortable silence.

With the workload removed from the chair, Hermione spent most of the day curled up in it, fingers wrapped around a coffee mug, and skin tingling in the warmth of the fire. She was content to sit and listen to the scribble of her counterpart's quill, the crackle of the cheery fire, and the occasional snap that told of the appearance of a meal. It was only during meals did Draco initiate any form of conversation. If he spoke otherwise, it was to answer a question posed by Hermione or to reply to something she had said. While they sat together and ate, however, he was fond of speaking.

"Are you feeling well? You haven't been eating much," he said distractedly, attention on the overly cooked pasta wrapped around his fork. Hermione laughed softly, picking the crust off a piece of very soft bread, and popped a folded chunk in her mouth.

"What do you have to compare it to?" she asked of him, and Draco shrugged a shoulder, attacking his alfredo with a knife, hoping to make it more manageable.

"You didn't come up at all yesterday; if you did eat, it wasn't good for you."

"I had food for thought," she reminded, and Draco gave her a sidelong glance, as if asking her to be serious. Hermione giggled and continued on her hunk of bread, smiling as she chewed. "I've had a bit too much tea, I think. Never did have an appetite for anything after, oh, a pint or so."

"Well, that's no excuse. You can't live on tea."

"I have almost exclusively for half a decade," Hermione said passively, dipping he bread in her bowl of pasta, but leaving the noodles where they rested. Draco had stopped eating and was watching her, slack jawed and speechless. Hermione was sitting sideways on the floor about two feet away from him, tea to one side and her pasta to the other. She seemed content with her meager meal and was watching the bread disappear with a soft smile. Draco almost believed that she hadn't even realized the seriousness of her statement.

"Hermione," he said after a moment, and she brought her beaming brown eyes to rest on his face.

"Yeah?" she asked amidst chewing. It was quite unladylike, but Draco smiled, speaking no further. Hermione laughed a moment later, after swallowing. "What is it?" she wondered, a happy grin planted on her face. He tilted his head slightly, looking almost as if he were dreaming.

"Will you tell me about... before?"

"Oh," she mumbled, surprised at his question, and her lips curled downward. Draco frowned in unison, and nearly regretted his words. "Of course," Hermione agreed a moment later, picking another piece of bread from the plate. "What do you want to know? I could give you a chronological listing of all the men I've married, share secrets of the holding chambers... oh, or explain the children's quarters."

"How about just a day in the life of Hermione Granger?" he asked, somewhat relieved that she hadn't become uncharacteristically depressed. In the time he'd known Hermione, she'd never been depressed. Scared, distraught, angry, submissive... but never in any way sad.

"Well, were I not married to you, I would probably wake up at dawn on a canvas cot and curl up at the top, next to the candle, to keep warm. Then, when the room grew a little warmer, as people started moving, I would join my fellow wives in the bathroom... which was really just a rusty toilet and a water spigot coming out of the wall, and wash as quickly as possible. Then dress and return to my cot. From there, I would watch the other women socialize and keep an eye on the bells above the door. If someone else's were to ring, I would spend the rest of my day lounging. If I were summoned, I would of course report to my husband's chambers and do his bidding. When he was finished, I would return to my cot and sleep. Again starts the cycle. Pretty simple, really."

"Weren't you ever just... board out of your mind?" Draco asked, playing the naïve card to his advantage; it made her laugh.

"Of course I was; but what was I supposed to do about it?" Hermione asked him, shaking her head and munching on her dinner. Draco smiled sheepishly.

"What did they make you do?"

"My husbands? Oh, it varied," Hermione admitted. "Some would want back rubs and massages, others pole dancing or something of that nature... I had one husband, Chad, who had me do his laundry naked three times a week. And, of course, there's that sex thing. Some of them are picky, and they don't sleep with all their wives, but I've yet to have a husband who hadn't asked it of me." Draco frowned at this accusation, but Hermione didn't even seem to notice what she'd said and continued on. "My last husband, Charon, always had us bring him breakfast... and he made sure the tray was heated along with the meal." Hermione opened her hands, one of which was still holding her meal. "I have scars." Draco grimaced.

"That's horrible," he stated, and Hermione shrugged.

"I'd like to think it could be worse. They're not allowed to... cut us, or break anything. I don't think anyone would say much if they did, though; the nurses are women who are slightly flawed in the eyes of men and they couldn't really tell anyone. I've never heard of it happening before. If they really wanted to hurt us they'd just send us to get caned; that's nasty," she said, squinting slightly. "I know from experience... they're allowed to cover your caning scars, though; most men seem to not like foot long welts on their sex toy's back." Draco's eyebrows knitted subconsciously as he listened, a rock hard ball of pity dropping to the bottom of his stomach. "That's only for extreme discipline. If you do something small, they'll just take away your contraceptives." His eyebrows flew high.

"No," he countered, and Hermione nodded.

"Of course. How do you think we have offspring? Not by choice, I assure you," she explained, looking sad for the first time in their conversation. Draco was quiet, not sure what he would say or ask next, and Hermione sighed, placing her half eaten slab of bread atop the nearly untouched pasta and placing it back on the tray, where it dissolved. "Have you ever read 'The Scarlet Pimpernel?'" she asked, drastically changing the subject, and Draco slowly shook his head. "It was a wonderful book... about the French Reign of Terror in the late eighteenth century..."

Hermione was sitting in the chair by the fire, curled into a ball, and resting her eyes when an eerie sound startled her. It started out low, but grew louder rapidly, and her eyes widened.

"Draco," she whispered nervously, sitting to her full height, but was appeased with no answer. She spun her head to see that he had piled all his notes on the floor beside the bed and was spread quite pretentiously over the covers, one hand rooted behind his head while the other rested on his stomach. She turned back around slowly, eyes glued to the ceiling. The peculiar racket was growing louder and Hermione felt her heart start to beet against her ribcage. She was scared, and she wouldn't deny it. "Draco..." she called him again, but was weary about how loud her voice was. She didn't know what was happening, and her fear kept her from shouting. It sounded like a thousand heavy rats were running through the rafters, marching in ranks like an army.

A sudden louder and separate sound, as if a dragon had just apparated, coursed through the air and made Hermione jump. She peeped in fear, clutching the side of the chair. When another roar, the same sound intensified, shook the room, Hermione could take her solitude no longer. She jumped from her chair and leaped onto the bed, jostling her husband and startling him awake. She latched her fingers into his chest and shook with all her might, determined to get his attention.

"Draco! Something's happening," she hissed, and his eyes shot open in a panic.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked her, pushing himself up and holding on to her forearms. "Hermione?"

"I don't know!" she wailed, voice trembling. "Can't you hear it?" Draco turned his attention away from his terrified wife and instead focused on any unnatural noises in the room. He furrowed his brows when nothing came to him, and turned back to her.

"What?" he repeated. "The rain?" Hermione's tight and frightened fingers relaxed their grip on him and she slouched a bit, breathing deeply.

"Rain?" she asked in a whisper, but his reply was cut off by a third growl erupted and Hermione tensed, a slight gasp escaping her throat. Draco chuckled softly, shifting to a more comfortable position and moved his grip to her upper arms, rubbing them up and down.

"It's just a thunderstorm, Hermione... calm down," he coached, a grin plastered to his face. Hermione looked worried.

"It's... raining? That's it? Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. Look," Draco said, turning her so that she fell into the pillows beside him. He pointed toward the fire, which was being quickly stifled by the bucketfuls of water washing the chimney. Had he not his terrified counterpart to attend to, Draco would have turned the iron knob designed to create a gutter atop the flue, but Hermione needed his primal attention. "You act as if you've never heard of it."

"I..." Hermione started, but stopped herself, relaxing into the pillowed headboard, hands still clutching the blonde beside her. "It's been so long..." she told him, trembling and keeping an attentive eye darting around the room. "I've never had a chamber on the outside of the castle before..."

"Your room downstairs has an outer wall; you'd be able to hear it there too," he notified, keeping a comforting hand on her corresponding shoulder. Hermione shuddered.

"I can't imagine if I was down there all alone..." she shared, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Well, you're not, are you?" Draco prodded, squeezing her in a reassuring hug. Hermione smiled nervously and tried to relax.

"No... I suppose you're right."

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	7. Library Card

Erstwhile on TUB:

"It's... raining? That's it? Are you sure?"

"Your room downstairs has an outer wall; you'd be able to hear it there too," he notified, keeping a comforting hand on her corresponding shoulder. Hermione shuddered.

"I can't imagine if I was down there all alone..." she shared, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Well, you're not, are you?" Draco prodded, squeezing her in a reassuring hug. Hermione smiled nervously and tried to relax.

"No... I suppose you're right."

-

Chapter Seven: Library Card

Draco was startled awake by a loud bang, as if someone had slammed a door near his ear. He sat up immediately, only to discover that his body movement was restricted. Hermione was sleeping peacefully beside him, lying sideways on the bed with her legs trapping his and her head more on the night table than the mattress. Smiling in spite of himself, Draco gently pushed her away and proceeded to cautiously get out of bed, searching the room for the disturbance.

After a few minutes of futile searching, Draco slowly sat back down. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to the naked eye, but his eyebrows remained knotted and senses at their peak. He shifted himself to sit with his back against the headboard, but placed his hand on something much denser than the feather-soft mattress. Looking down, Draco discovered an unfamiliar book nestled between his pillow and Hermione's, looking inconspicuous.

He took the foreign object into his hands and proceeded to look around the room in confusion. It was only when Draco noticed a dent in the soft maple of his headboard that he realized the origin of the book's presence. He turned his head toward the fireplace just in time to see a thicker, blue covered book fly out of the flue, fluttering like a deranged bird. Instinctively, he leaned to his left and caught it, but heavily fell onto the mattress in the process. Hermione woke mid-bounce and gasped as she registered the situation.

"Draco? What's going on?" she asked, withdrawing her legs from their awkward position and pushing herself up. Draco, who was now holding both books, threw them onto the floor and took Hermione by the arm.

"Get down," he commanded, sliding off the bed and onto the ground while pulling Hermione with him. Confused, she put up no fight and curled into the corner formed by the bed stand and wall. Draco instinctively positioned himself as to cover her.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked again in whisper, voice slightly panicked as she held herself tightly pressed to the wall. Draco sighed slightly.

"Books," he answered, bothering not to further explain. Hermione's eyebrows knitted for a moment, but the fireplace answered her confusion by ejecting another tattered tomb at the headboard. Another soon followed, and another; their pace quickening. After about half a dozen books had been projected into the room, there was a slight pause. Both Hermione and Draco waited with bated breath for something to happen.

"Is it over?" Hermione wondered, praying herself correct. Draco shook his head, shifting slightly closer to her.

"I don't know."

"Where are they coming from?"

"Either the farmhouse or someone with the wrong address; no one else knows about this connection," he told her, speaking softly as if any sound could trigger an avalanche. Hermione opened her mouth to voice another question, but the chimney again interrupted her. This time, the books flew with incredible speed, hitting against the wall as if shot from a gun. Hermione peeped in surprise and tensed, squeezing her eyes closed and hugging herself while Draco pressed his body persistently closer to her.

The shower ended quickly and the room was again bathed in silence. Draco and Hermione remained in air raid position for a few minutes, hoping, but not certain, that their drill was over. Hermione slowly relaxed, tentatively opening her eyes. She watched Draco's face with worry, but he seemed merely to be listening.

When assured the unexpected delivery was complete, Draco moved away from his captive. Hermione placed one hand on his arm and used the other to put weight on the table and allow herself to stand. She stood against the wall, still nervous, and watched as Draco rose from the ground.

"Well, that's something you don't see everyday," he commented amusedly, gaze on the pile of books littering the bed. Draco retrieved the two original tombs from the floor and tossed the second into the pile, keeping the pioneering text in hand. Out of curiosity, he opened it; reading aloud from the first page. "'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'... what is this?" he asked, tossing the book into the pile. "Some kind of joke?"

"No," answered Hermione, gently taking the golden lined treatise into her grasp. "It's a gift." She ran a gentle hand over the cover before opening to the title page and as she was about to turn another leaf, some fresh quill marks caught her eye. "Look," she said softly, as if in awe, and read aloud the delicate inscription. "'To hold you over, love Harry.'"

"Hold you over?" Draco repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"My letter... He sent me a library," Hermione noted with a wide grin, eyes dancing with joy. "This book was my favorite," she told him softly, holding the book as if it her first born child. Draco made an undistinguishable sound and crossed his arms.

"Well, that's all well and good, but did he have to attempt murder in the process?" he asked, sounding childish. Hermione gave him a sidelong glance, but showed no other ill will toward his treatment of Harry's gesture. Instead, she focused on her gift, bringing the binding close to her nose and inhaling the sweet and familiar scent of the book. It was pure bliss; inked pages had never smelt as fantastic.

Without sparing Draco recognition for his semi-sour mood at having been awoken so abruptly, Hermione gently closed the book and sat on the edge of the bed as she began piling the tombs and inspecting the titles. Draco watched her with mild interest as her face lit up each time she drew in a new novel, a new world of experiences. A galaxy of moons she left behind a long time ago. Watching her practically radiate sheer joy, Draco's irritability melted away, and he again seated himself on the edge of the mattress. Just as he was about to start meaningless conversation, Hermione squealed.

"Look!" she cried in alarm, her hand shooting out to shake his arm as if her shrieks weren't enough force to get his attention. She held in her other hand a frayed, pinstriped book engraved with an elegant H on the cover. "It's the one I was telling you about; with the candy cane forest... Harold of Mandisa Field. Oh, how brilliant! It must be coincidence; Harry couldn't have known..." she babbled, shoving the book into his hands before diving back into the pile on the bed.

In minutes, the tombs were stacked in neat piles of five, by size in the order she planned to read them. There were twenty books altogether, including Harold's Fields and the inscribed Pride and Prejudice. Once everything was carefully inspected and mentally indexed, Hermione moved the piles from the bed to line the adjacent wall, making sure her favorite brown covered book was on the top.

When the last of the four piles had been moved, she scurried toward the door with no indication of where she might be going. Draco, who had up until this point been silently watching and trying to get the plague of paranoia to leave his system, jumped up at her quick exit.

"Where are you going?" he asked, startling her slightly. Hermione turned back, looking credulous.

"To the bathroom... why?"

"Oh," Draco said, slightly embarrassed, sitting once more. "I just wanted to know in case I need to find you."

"Why would you need to find me?" Hermione asked, growing more interested as the inquiry progressed. Draco shook his head, slouching and looking down at the pinstriped book in his hands.

"I don't know; I just have a feeling."

-x-x-x-

"Draco, did you take arithmancy?" Hermione asked, squinting hard at a page near the latter half of her novel. Draco, who was lounging on the floor near the spot she was seated, looked up from his own book.

"In second through fifth yeah, yes. I didn't take the NEWT, though," he replied, watching her casually, and Hermione brought the text closer to her nose.

"What would... three ten stand for?" she then asked, sparking the squint of Draco's eyebrows.

"What?"

Hermione placed the book on the floor and moved closer to him, sliding it with her.

"Here," she said, pointing to the bottom of page three ten, where a slash had been made between the three and the one, and the entire number circled darkly. In tiny writing to the margin of the page, another inscription read 'See you soon'. "Harry wrote it in; it must be a message..."

"I don't know," Draco said, narrowing his eyes at the page as if to better see. "It would mean C-J. Does that mean anything to you?" Hermione shook her head, disappointed. "I bet you're right, though," Draco added in hope of cheering her. "It means something." Hermione shook her head, dismissing it.

"Do you like that book?" she asked, changing the subject to avoid her disheartenment. Draco was reading the book she'd given him, but was no where as close to finishing as Hermione was her own novel.

"It's refreshingly different," he said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. "One of very few that really have a hidden meaning." Hermione laughed.

"You must be visiting the wrong library."

-x-x-x-

Hermione worked quickly through the piles, reading late into the night as she sat curled in the chair by the fire. Draco, after finishing over half the book she had assigned him, took a break and commenced working. Hermione made no mention of it, but he could tell she was disappointed. Evidently, she was very proud of that book. Draco worked himself into a stupor, then relaxed back into the bed, telling himself to just let his eyes rest before getting back into the candy cane children. When they were done resting, it was midmorning.

Hermione was still sitting comfortably in the chair, moved a little closer to the flame and turned to better view the bed, reading as if her life depended on it. She held an aura of utmost complacency, at home and calm, underwater in her world of fantasy. Draco rubbed the sleep from his eyes and lifted an eyebrow at her.

"Hey," he said and she jumped, startled by his conscious. She grinned when she saw him, however.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Hermione greeted, eyes alight with humor, before bending her head to continue reading.

"When did you wake up?" Draco asked conversationally, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Hermione laughed softly.

"Yesterday morning," she answered, turning the last page of another novel and placing on the pile next to her. Draco shook his head, falling back on the bed. Hermione watched him with a smile. "What? No lecture about my well-being?" Draco smirked.

"It'd be pointless, wouldn't it? You never listen to me anyway; I'm not going to try."

"Well, could you try and toss me that last book?" she mocked, making Draco chuckle. He sat up again, fishing the last remaining text from the floor.

"Didn't bother to pace yourself? Make them last?" he asked, tapping the spine of the book against his palm. Hermione shrugged.

"They're not going anywhere. I can read them again. Come now," she prodded, holding out a hand and gesturing him closer. Draco, smiling lazily, stood from the bed and ambled toward her, legs stiff with sleep. He knelt beside her chair and held out the book. Hermione took it gratefully, smiling, and for an extended moment, their eyes held the same gaze and their hands the same book. Then, Hermione grinned and looked down at her hand, prompting Draco to release the tomb. He gave a lopsided smile as he watched her turn to the first page, but his lips fell at the disappointed look on her face. "Oh," she said, smiling quickly up at him, but it did not reach her eyes. "I forgot about this one. Maybe I won't read it after all." Draco lifted an eyebrow and looked down at the page just as Hermione turned it.

"You don't like David Essex?" he asked, surprised, and Hermione shrugged a shoulder, placing the book on the last of the four piles she had reconstructed beside her chair, then took one from the stack opposite. "Oh; I knew that," Draco said, as if cursing himself for forgetting, and Hermione laughed, opening her new novel.

"You did not," she accused, shaking her head, and Draco nodded.

"I did."

"How?" Hermione asked, curiously moving closer to him.

"I can't remember if it was... it had to have been fifth or sixth year; you were fighting with Cho Chang about it," he recalled, speaking softly. "She claimed she loved Essex because he captured the true meaning of life and death, and that she felt closer to Cedric by reading him. You disagreed, assured that his books were pointless and the metaphors had nothing to do with Cho's ideas." Hermione was taken aback.

"You remember that? But, how..."

"You stood up for what you believed in, even though Cho and about a thousand literary arts students disagreed. I admired that. And everyone was talking about it for a week."

"I bet Harry doesn't even remember that; and he was with me," she noted, shaking her head. Draco shrugged.

"I..."

Hermione pitched forward the few inches needed and pressed her lips to Draco's, in mid speech. He was startled stiff for a moment, but she was persistent and he soon found himself indulging in the act, sliding his hand over her jaw and carefully executing a breathtaking kiss. Hermione let her book fall to the floor and tentatively slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss was broken prematurely and Hermione inhaled sharply, pressing their foreheads together.

"Draco..." she breathed passionately, eyes closed and savoring the moment. Draco, now beyond surprise, dug into another kiss, preluding with a series of nips just to the left of her mouth, and finishing with a deep caress. The second kiss was much better received than the first; more articulate and involved. Only when fainting seemed likely did Draco pull back again, this time in as much a state as Hermione. He exhaled onto her moistened lips and swallowed as she shuddered.

"You know how wrong this is, don't you?" he asked, tone hushed, and Hermione laughed breathily.

"Damn straight," said a third party, startling both occupants of the room, who turned sharply toward the fireplace, where a somber Justin Finch-Fletchley was shaking his head in shame. Hermione's hands sprang from Draco's neck, quickly covering her mouth.

"Fletchley," he hissed. "What the fuck? How long have been there?"

"That book," Justin said, nodding toward the overturned novel on the floor. "Used to be on her lap." Draco jammed his fingers into his hair, jaw set.

"... if you tell _anyone_..." he warned, but Justin waved him off.

"Fuck you, we've got more important things. Harry's gone mad."

"What?" Draco asked, relieved and anxious at the same time.

"He got up this morning and was _happy_. He was singing, Draco; _singing_. Then he refused breakfast and got his broom and claimed to be going back to bed, but Teige said she saw him fly off the grounds; I'm pretty sure he's heading for you."

"Shit," Draco cursed. "This is bad... very bad." He stood, and began pacing, fingers still lodged in his hair. "What the fuck am I supposed to do, Fletchley? He can't seriously be planning to break in and just start blind siding, can he?"

"You haven't seen Harry lately, Draco; that day you came was nothing. The way he's acting now, he just might. He's smashed; on what, I don't know. We're bringing back-up, but it's taking a while to get organized; Harry'll have a good hour to get himself killed," Justin explained, and a voice called from behind. He spared a glance over his shoulder, then turned back to Draco. "Don't fuck up, Malfoy." Justin disappeared and Draco screamed in frustration.

"Harry, you bastard," he hissed, pushing painfully on his eyes. Hermione, still in shock from both the interruption and the news, sat still in her chair, hands over her mouth. Draco cursed. "I shouldn't have to think this hard!" He let go of his hair, letting his arms fall, and looked up at her. Hermione let her hands melt to her lap, amazed at seeing him so disheveled. His hair was a mess; he looked scared -he was hardly Draco. "Hermione..." he whispered, almost to himself, and his eyes watched her as if he'd never seen her before. "Quick," he said, snapping into action and approaching her. Draco pulled her to her feet and kissed her forehead. "Go downstairs and get anything you can't leave behind. We have to get you out of here, all right?" he instructed, holding her face gently. Hermione nodded, looking shaken, and Draco released her, crossing the room to his bed table and sliding his wand into his pocket. He turned back to see Hermione slipping into the pumps she'd left by the door while trying simultaneously to put on her sweater.

"I'm ready," she said as her head peeked out of the collar, then pulled the hair from behind her and speedily approached him. Draco looked surprised.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and Hermione nodded.

"I'm ready to leave. I don't need anything but a way out," she said seriously, and Draco nodded, taking her hand and pulling her toward the fireplace.

"Hold on to me; don't let go," he told her. "We have to go together; if we're intercepted, I want to know where you are." Hermione nodded, linking her arms behind him and embracing his waist. Draco tossed in the necessary amount of powder and shouted "HG BB," before shifting them into the flames. As the floo ride commenced, it was accompanied by the pulse of alarm bells from the world below.

-x-x-x-

When Hermione landed, her world was spinning. She'd forgotten how nauseating a floo ride could be and had actually received a little damage from riding in the confined space alongside a passenger. She had felt her arms and elbows scrape the pavement more than once, and they now throbbed dully, adding to her lightheadedness. When her feet made contact with the floor, she held tighter to Draco for fear of falling down.

"Oh, good; company! Welcome to hell!" called a third party and Draco tensed, pushing her lightly closer to him. Hermione whimpered slightly, sure as the sun that they'd found themselves somewhere other than the safe confines of the farmhouse. She felt herself begin to shake, flushed with fear when hoping for relief. Draco made no move from the fireplace, and Hermione kept her eyes closed, buried in his chest and savoring his companionship. She was sure in her mind that they were standing before some greater power; some crony to Mauriz; someone who would take them to him. She flinched; she'd be caned; probably to death.

"Hermione," Draco whispered, then cleared his throat, as if surprised at himself. "Hermione," he repeated with more conviction. "This is Janelle." Only at this introduction did Hermione dare to open her eyes. How could Draco know the name of the woman demon sent to take them to Satan? Was this all a trick; a set up? Had he planned to touch her and love her, only to cut her?

Hermione peeked into the room to see a very livid and very pregnant woman standing before them, arms crossed and foot tapping. She noticed herself placed in the center of a fireplace big enough to floo an entire Quidditch team, looking into a dining area with a grand table mounded with dirty plates. It certainly didn't seem like hell. She straightened, suddenly alert and interested in the situation. Draco pushed her gently out of the floo, but stayed within its confines. He hurriedly reached to the sack of floo powder, extracting a handful and readying himself for a flight back to Hogwarts. Hermione suddenly looked scared.

"You're leaving?" she demanded, eyes wide and lips down turned. Draco spared a nervous glance to Janelle, who was still waiting patiently at the side of the table, now lifting an eyebrow at Hermione's response.

"Yeah..." Draco said distractedly, bringing his focus back to his wife. "I have to help. Stay here; Janelle will get you situated. Right?" he warned the loftier woman, who rolled her eyes and picked up a stack of dishes, heading toward a doorway. When she was safely out of earshot, Draco took Hermione into his arms. He embraced her and she returned it, suddenly afraid. "You'll be fine," he promised her. "I'll bring Harry back..."

"Don't go," Hermione interrupted. "Please, Draco; I'm... I'm scared."

"Scared?" he asked, chuckling in hopes of lightening the mood. "You've never been safer." Hermione trembled slightly in his arms, holding him close to her. Draco frowned. "Hey," he whispered, pushing her back. Hermione reluctantly loosened her grip and looked up at him, eyes glistening with a coat of moisture. Draco lifted a hand and let his fingers slide through her hair. "I'll come right back," he assured, smiling confidently. "We've done this a million times; we know what we're doing."

"But..." Hermione began, but Draco shook his head. He placed the most chaste of kisses near her lips, then took a backward stride and threw his powdered transportation device onto the charred floor of the empty fireplace. With a simple, "Princess Quarters" he had disappeared, up the chimney and back into harm's way. Hermione shuddered, crossing her arms at the sudden chill.

"Well don't just stand around," said a voice from behind her, and Hermione turned to see Janelle striding back into the room. "You're no more useless than I am; grab a stack," she instructed, piling a plate and glass on her stomach while balancing two more sets in each hand. Surprised, Hermione stepped up and lifted a fair share of flatware from the burdened banquet table. She followed Janelle through the doorway, and what was presumably the living area, into the kitchen. The room was immense; there were a hundred appliances, dozens of pots hanging from the ceiling, a breakfast bar, cooking island, and two sinks against the far wall. Janelle made her way toward the sinks, setting her dishes near the growing pile and mumbling to herself. Hermione, tentative and feeling awkward, followed the younger woman's example.

Janelle spared not but a glance as she plunged her hands into the soapy water pooled in the sink and searched out a dish towel, then commenced scrubbing. When she deemed the first plate satisfactory, she dipped it in the second sink, full of warm water but no soap. Hermione watched, feeling useless, as Janelle continues scrubbing. After the second and third dishes had been cleaned, she looked up, eyes narrowed at her houseguest.

"What are you waiting for; an invitation? There's a towel, there; I'd hope you could figure the rest on your own," she bit, then launched into her chore once again, angrily.

Hermione jumped to the other side of the sink, pulling the towel from the hook on which it hung and grasping the edge of one of the submerged dishes. She set about her task quickly, eyes always glancing in Janelle's direction. Hermione couldn't help but think that the girl seemed more of a tyrant than some of her husbands had. The dishes were scrubbed and shined in silence for a spell, suiting Hermione as well as conversation would have. It was Janelle who broke the unspoken agreement to speak not but an order.

"You might want to be careful," she warned, eyeing her matron narrowly. "Or people may learn what no one intends."

-

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	8. The Living Dead

Erstwhile on TUB:

"What are you waiting for; an invitation? There's a towel, there; I'd hope you could figure the rest on your own," she bit, then launched into her chore once again, angrily.

Hermione jumped to the other side of the sink, pulling the towel from the hook on which it hung and grasping the edge of one of the submerged dishes. She set about her task quickly, eyes always glancing in Janelle's direction. Hermione couldn't help but think that the girl seemed more of a tyrant than some of her husbands had. The dishes were scrubbed and shined in silence for a spell, suiting Hermione as well as conversation would have. It was Janelle who broke the unspoken agreement to speak not but an order.

"You might want to be careful," she warned, eyeing her matron narrowly. "Or people may learn what no one intends."

-

Chapter Eight: The Living Dead

Hermione watched her hostess of the corner of her eye as she delicately dried the dishes, making sure they were spotless before setting them in piles to her side. Janelle noticed this, but paid little attention, focusing her anger on the caked on sauces and stale food. She wore a tight line on her face, scowling at the dishes as she scrubbed, hair falling from the blonde bun on her head into her sour face.

"What?" she finally asked, turning her blaring eyes directly to Hermione, who squirmed under her gaze, uncomfortable. She said nothing, but returned her attention to the task at hand, annoying Janelle more than relieving her. "What?" she repeated. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione said softly, blushing and bowing her head. "It's just that I never pictured you like this."

"Oh yeah?" Janelle spat. "And what would you know about it?"

"Neville told me all about you," she answered, in fear of the reaction were she to leave a question unanswered. "I've known him for a long time, and never has he spoken with as much elation as he did while speaking about you. He loves you so much; I just... thought you'd be different." Hermione finished, trailing off as she placed another dish on a stack and plunged her hand back into the water. She suddenly looked up, as if alarmed. "I mean no offense, I..." she began, but Janelle ignored her.

"If Nevy loves me so much, why'd he leave us, then?" she asked, her irritated voice cracking into sadness. Janelle relaxed her shoulders, leaning of the sink with a firm frown and placing a hand on her protuberance. Hermione looked completely shocked.

"He what? I... when?" she asked, heart going out to the girl, though she couldn't believe her ears. Neville was not a do-and-drop kind of man; he was stable and reliable. Leaving his wife in the midst of pregnancy was too uncharacteristic for Hermione's mind to fathom. Janelle looked livid for a moment, as if prepared to curse.

"Don't be dense!" she yelled, then winced, as if she had startled herself. Hermione wondered fleetingly if perhaps the baby had jumped at its mother's outburst, and was overcome with anguish. "He's off right now, with the others, looking for your ruddy boyfriend, saving a thousand damsels in distress... probably getting himself killed and where am I? Left here, with you... carrying his child and cleaning his dishes," she said with disdain. "I need him here, with me; they could do with one less." Hermione nodded in understanding. That sounded more like Neville; determined and trustworthy, no matter the consequences.

"Have you told him?" she ventured quietly, hesitantly. Janelle seemed to be past her anger for the time being, and nodded sadly.

"Of course I have. He says it's his duty; he promised Harry. Well, I want those women out just as much as he does, but it's not like he's alone. There's a whole army out there working for them. What about what he promised me? His duty as my husband and the father of my baby?" Janelle asked, pleading her case, and Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for her. As she waited for any response from Hermione, tears silently began to slide from below her closed eyelids over her cheeks and off her trembling chin. Hermione, feeling compelled to offer sympathy, set down her dishtowel and embraced the woman she'd barely met, letting her shed unbridled tears. Janelle complied eagerly, allowing herself to seek comfort in an unbiased shoulder.

The girls stayed in silence until Janelle felt herself ready to stand alone again, refreshed and relieved. She sniffled and pulled back, smiling.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "It's this pregnancy; I can hardly control my emotions anymore." Hermione offered a sympathetic smile and waited while her blonde friend composed herself.

"If you want," she began, still slightly hesitant. "I could try to talk some sense into him for you. It might not hurt to have a little backup." For the first time since they'd met, Hermione saw Janelle smile.

"Thank you, Hermione. It's no wonder Harry loves you; you barely even know me and you're already trying to help me. I feel like I could tell you anything," Janelle praised as she shook her head, starting back in on the dishes. Hermione spared a moment to frown, but decided she liked a calm Janelle better than a livid one and bringing up the fact that Harry's feelings were one sided and his mission useless could spark a turn of the tables. She knew first hand what pregnancy could do to a woman's judgment. Instead, she opted to continue her chore in silence, much less troubled by the woman beside her. Janelle continued to sniffle periodically, but was all in all much friendlier.

After Janelle had handed the last dish to her partner and let the water drain from the sink, she sighed and turned to lean against the counter. Hermione silently completed her job, then turned to Janelle as if looking for an assignment. The blonde smiled in silence, as if taking into account all that was Hermione, before supporting her full weight on her feet once more.

"Tea?" she asked, walking toward the stove and putting a brimming pot of water onto a burner. Hermione smiled in thanks and made herself useful, taking two freshly washed cups and saucers from the stacks she had assisted in cleaning and bringing them to the tiny breakfast table in the corner. She moved slowly, hoping not to be caught in an awkward situation, as she did not yet know the customs of the house. She was jumpy and nervous and her hands didn't seem to want to stay still.

Hermione managed to keep herself meagerly occupied until the teapot was ripe and whistled for assistance. Janelle lifted it by the wooden handle and came toward the table, holding in her hand two tea balls and a little bag of flakes. Hermione smiled and stepped to the side as her hostess set out the utensils and filled the cups with steaming water. Janelle sighed, sounding much more light-hearted than she hash to Hermione and let the water drain from the sink, she sighed and what pregnancy could do d previously, and sat down, though with much difficulty. It was only when she was comfortably seated, her body parallel with the table as to accommodate her stomach, that Hermione helped herself to a chair. Subsequently, she allowed Janelle to demonstrate use of the tea balls before filling her own and dipping it into her cup. The women lapsed into silence, as if counting the seconds until the boys returned.

"Do you know what you're having yet?" Hermione asked to lighten the mood; if this woman was anything like the goddess Neville had described, Hermione thought it would do her well to make friends. Janelle looked startled for a moment, then brought her eyes to her stomach, smiling. She shook her head.

"No; we wanted to be surprised. Nevy wants a girl; he's not much for sports and things, and he's afraid he'll not be a good father to a son. I don't care much either way, I just don't want any complications. So far, I've gotten my wish. I hope Nevy gets his too," she said, watching warmly as her fingers traced over her bulging midriff. Hermione's eyes glazed over slightly, and she looked into the space in front of her cup as she stirred the tea leaves and watched the water pale to a dirty brown.

"I was pregnant once, you know," she stated, but did not elaborate, and Janelle looked up in surprise. Hermione met her eyes with a sad smile and noticed with amusement the high speed confusion racing through the blonde's mind.

"I didn't know you had children," she finally stated, sounding utterly truthful. Hermione laughed softly.

"I don't. It was probably about two years ago; I was married to... or owned by, rather, a man named Hannan. I took on the habit of calling him Hannah and at one time too many, he confiscated my contraceptives. This didn't deter him any from calling for me, and, well..." Hermione looked up. "Do you know about the Maternity Campanile?" Janelle, who had been listening with a look of horrified interest on her face, could not make eye contact with Hermione and opted instead to look away, nodding. "Yes, well... I couldn't bear that type of fate for my daughter, so I spared her. I stopped eating. Hannan was a very sick man; he had... a fetish, I guess you could say. As soon as I informed him of our offspring, he started calling me more frequently. It got to the point where it was nearly nightly. I was thin and sickly, exhausted and stressed. I succeeded; she was stillborn."

"That's horrible," Janelle whispered, eyes closed as if it pained her to think of such a thing, and hands pressed firmly to her abdomen. "I'm so sorry."

"It was for the best," Hermione reminded. "I don't regret it. That spell; that spell is what's horrible. It's just... unnatural." There was silence again; Janelle stared at her stomach, tracing patters over her sweater and looking serene, as if praying for her baby's safety, while Hermione dipped her tea ball in and out of her cup, making the liquid inside a little stronger. "So, where did you meet Neville?" she asked, though she vaguely knew, if only to dissuade the silence. Janelle looked slightly alarmed at the change in topic, but seemed eager to discuss a new subject.

"Here, actually. My sister, Teige... have they told you about her?" she asked and Hermione nodded immediately. Janelle looked a little spiteful. "Of course they did; they all love her to death," she said, a bit bitterly, then sighed. "Teige was blessed with the gift of magic; my father suspects my mother may have had an affair when she was conceived, but... She went to school with you lot; graduated the year before the attack. She had a lot of friends in your year, so after all that happened, she wanted to help. I tagged along, I met Neville; at first I thought he was too old for me, but... after a while it didn't matter. My parents were supportive; they'd always liked him. Teige gave a good word, I suppose that helped. We've been married for two years, this spring." Hermione smiled softly.

"What does your sister think?" she asked curiously, sipping her tea. Janelle looked away, as if depressed.

"She thinks we're rushing things. She didn't want me to have the baby," she answered, near tears in wake of Hermione's heart wrenching story. The brunette looked shocked; she was beginning to think she'd received sugar- coated stories of everyone. She was almost afraid to meet Harry.

"She wanted you to..." she started, unable to complete her sentence, but Janelle shook her head furiously.

"No, nothing like that. We tried for this baby; we've been trying for months," she said, smiling softly in reverie. "Nevy asked my father for my hand, and likewise discussed everything with him before he brought it up with me. Daddy loves him so much, and my mother was ecstatic. Teige has never in her twenty four years had a deep relationship; my mother thinks her lost cause, and that, in turn, puts all grand-child rearing on my shoulders. She couldn't have been happier was it her idea. Teige tried to talk them out of it, but they wouldn't be hindered and neither would we. She wasn't happy; she still wants me to foster it." Janelle's face grew determined. "But I won't. Never. She's the only one who doesn't think I'm ready. I don't think one person out of all Nevy's friends and both our families is quite enough to wave my decision. I couldn't give it up now; not after all this time growing inside me. Not when it's nearly here." Hermione nodded sympathetically as she watched Janelle work herself back into a fit of tears. She felt slightly regretful for having sparked the conversation which brought on this tizzy, but assured herself that the hormones guaranteed a mood change at about this time regardless. She preferred a waterlogged Janelle to a livid one. "I just wish Nevy would come back," Janelle sniffled, folding her arms over her chest and leaning her forehead on them.

"Do... Do you really think it's that dangerous?" Hermione asked, somewhat hesitantly. "Could they really be killed?" Janelle shook her head, lifting it again to view Hermione and reaching out for her comforting mug of tea.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I just don't know. We've never had a casualty before, but... this is different. This is the real thing, the big one. Mauriz. I hope to any god in heaven that I'm just being paranoid, but... I can't help but to worry. To think up worst case scenarios. To wonder... what would I do without him?"

"Hey," Hermione said, interrupting Janelle before she talked herself into hysteria. "Thinking like that isn't going to help anyone, least of all you. It isn't good for you to get so worked up all the time; don't think about what's going on out there, just... relax and enjoy the quiet. They'll be back before you know it and you'll not get much peace then; especially not after you've got a newborn." Not for the first time, the blonde woman took in her houseguest with a look of gratitude and joy. She was instantly eased.

"Thank you," Janelle repeated. "You're too kind for your own good." Hermione smiled widely, sipping at her lukewarm tea. There was an echoing pause until she placed the cup back onto her saucer and slouched down in her chair, for the first time at ease. "We should probably get you situated, then," Janelle suggested. "It looks as though you'll be here for a while." With substantial difficulty, she got to her feet and brought the dishes to the sink before turning toward the doorway. "Come on, then; this way, up the stairs."

Hermione hurriedly chased after her hostess, marveling at the world around her. The house was modest, made of plaster and wood, with beautiful hardwood floors and amazingly large rooms. Each room was decorated sparsely, making the house seem homey and spacious; there wasn't much need for knick-knacks and art work and most space was occupied with furniture and bookshelves. The stairs began in the middle of the foyer, just opposite the main entrance doors, and continued with wide steps, old fashioned banisters and a tatty carpet; it seemed to go on forever. Janelle led Hermione past the platform that allowed access to the second floor and continued up the steps until they reached the next in line. From the third floor, the staircase turned back the way in came while still inclining, as to accommodate the geometric shape of the house. On this second landing, Janelle stopped and momentarily caught her breath before gesturing for Hermione to follow her down the hallway. There were three rooms to either side of the hall and a single door at the end which was visibly open to reveal a bathroom.

Janelle sighed happily as she made it to her destination, turning to face her follower. Hermione looked completely lost, confused as to her place, and tentative to ask questions. Her tour guide simply smiled.

"This is your room, Hermione," she said, opening a door to reveal a room much smaller than that which Hermione had had when living with Draco, but just as comfortable. It was speckled with furniture and decorated tastefully, including a curtained window and various lighting systems. There was an overflowing bookshelf against the wall opposite the bed and, in the corner, a cage held a tiny snowy owl. It was sleeping with its head tucked below a wing and seemed annoyed at their intrusion. Janelle noticed the inquisitive look Hermione gave to the little bird and smiled. "Harry thought you might want to owl a few letters; send something to your family. If it's all the same to you, I'd ask you not to do any of that until he's come back and you've had a teary reunion." Hermione nodded.

"What happened to Hedwig?" she asked spontaneously, as though she had just been struck with the thought. Janelle laughed.

"She's in Harry's room. This is Fagan; her son. Only about two; fastest learner I've ever seen," she answered, smiling at the bird draped in shadow. Hermione, now over her outburst, began to consider more rational questions.

"Do you know of my parents?" she asked softly, looking toward the ground. Janelle nodded.

"Oh, yes, of course. They stayed in touch with Harry; amazingly understanding about the whole thing. They've helped us quite a bit financially."

"So they're all right then?" she asked hopefully and Janelle nodded. "Do they know I've been found?" At this, the blonde frowned.

"No... Harry's been so caught up in you yourself that he hasn't thought about it. The rest of us are in no position to make that kind of announcement; not even Ron, really. Plus, I think Harry just wants you to himself for a while before he shares you with the world. I don't blame the poor guy."

"So, where do they think I am?" Hermione asked, confused. Janelle tried to smile for her benefit, but it was unconvincing.

"They think you've died," she admitted and Hermione gasped. "You have to understand," Janelle told her, "that's what everyone thought. Harry was so convinced, we couldn't disagree. There was a service for you, at your muggle church in London. They've come to terms; it'll come as quite a shock to see you alive again; that's why no one dared owl them. None of us are in close enough contact to blurt out that we've found their dead daughter. Harry should go in person, in my opinion; that's the best way. Be damned if he listen to me, though." Hermione held a hand loosely over her gaping mouth as she listened and Janelle felt slightly regretful for having broken the news so bluntly. The situation had become awkward and she wanted nothing more than a get away. "Well," she stated. "I think that's all. The kitchen's always open, the bathroom is right down the hall, and if there's anything else you need, just ask me. I'm sorry we don't have any clothes for you; we can go shopping with Mrs. Sergio whenever everything boils down. Until then, I'll get you some of mine, from before all this," Janelle said airily, gesturing to her stomach with a smile. Hermione, barely over her shock, let her shaky hand fall from her mouth.

"Thank you," she said softly. "That's very kind." Janelle waved her comment away and started back toward the staircase, but turned around before she made it past the first step.

"Oh, right," she cursed. "I almost forgot; Harry got you a wand, it's in the drawer by your bed. He sent Ron to that wand shop in London and 'the wand chooses the master' so it's supposed to work just like your old one, but I really don't know much about it. It's not like I've ever had one." Hermione's eyes filled with delight.

"A wand? Really?"

"So I've heard," Janelle confirmed, smiling and continuing her trip down the staircase. Hermione turned into her room and leaped onto the bed, startling Fagan and making him squawk. Without a moment to spare for thought, Hermione threw open the drawer in the bedside table and felt a rush of adrenaline as she revealed the black velvet box which could only hold one destiny. Her heart pounding and breath sharp, Hermione leaned back against the wall and opened the box with bated exhale. She couldn't control the watering of her eyes as her gaze touched the shined mahogany surface concealing manticore eyelash; sturdy, good for hexes and transfigurations. With shaking and tentative fingers, she lifted the perfect replica of the one instrument around which her life had once revolved and allowed the salty tears to course down her cheeks. The moment her fingertips grasped the handle and the magic within her reawakened, she felt it. She felt the surge of life course through her body; she felt like a witch again, like a person. Hermione Granger had returned, rusty and shaken, but very much alive.

-x-x-x-

"FestINA Lente," Hermione chanted from her cross legged position a foot and a half above the surface of her bed. So far, she had successfully turned Fagan green, purple, orange, back to his original snowy white, and orange again, simply because she thought him cute that way; switched her dirty outfit for one of the fresh new dresses borrowed from Janelle, cleansed her hair, painted her toe nails, levitated a plethora of things, cleaned the dust from under the bed, filled her water picture, and alphabetically categorized the books in her bookcase all without so much as a flick of her wrist. It had been difficult at first, remembering each incantation correctly while at the same time experimenting with wrist motions, but after a few spells, she fell back into the grove. Like riding a bike; one could never forget. The few spells she did manage to perform inaccurately were usually harmless and therefore all damage was easily fixable. "FESTina Lente," she tried again, changing the stress of the syllables, anticipative of their outcome. Hermione grinned as the dark blue draperies slowly moved aside, letting sunlight flood the room and ultimately disturbing Fagan. He didn't seem to enjoy the constant interference of his nap and made his annoyance known, squawking and biting the metal of his cage. Hermione laughed softly. "Sorry, Fagan," she said, then directed his cage's night cloth to drape over the bars. "Better?" Fagan hooted his approval and ruffled his feathers before growing quiet again. Hermione, assuming he had gone back to sleep, sighed and turned toward the window. Her breath caught in her throat.

Hermione's room was located in the back of the house and her window gave her a most spectacular view of the yard. There was a brick patio to the rear of the house, just large enough for a line of three picnic tables to be assembled perpendicularly with the whitewashed siding. Beyond this, an expanse of fresh green grass stretched out for at least two kilometers, cut by a narrow stream about a Quidditch pitch's distance from the patio. To her mirth, Hermione saw a large cow tied to a tree near the brook, swinging its tail and contentedly chewing on the grass near the bank. Her eyes followed the river to where it passed through a water wheel, which was connected to a large red barn. The area immediately in front of the shed was closed off, containing a crowd of chickens scouring the ground for grain.

The drizzle of rain dripping from the bright blue sky didn't seem to bother the fowl in the slightest; even the cock that stood in the window of the loft, cut into the second story of the shed, seemed not to mind the splatters in his feathers. Hermione was overcome with a magnificent urge to explore; she hadn't been in the sunlight in years, a barn full of chickens was like a fine art museum. Just as she had decided and finished fixing all her wayward spells, Hermione's euphoria was interrupted by a solid knock at her door. Assuming Janelle had come bearing more clothes, Hermione slid her wand into her dress and opened the door with a gratified comment on her lips. As she opened it, however, her breath was taken for the umpteenth time that day.

"Ron?" she asked, slack jawed. The tall red-headed man in the doorway grinned.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, as calmly as ever, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hermione gaped like a suffocating fish.

"R-Ron? I, oh... Ron," she babbled, causing him to chuckle at her expense.

"Well, come here, then," he said, opening his arms. Hermione threw him into a hug so quickly that Ron was slightly winded. He laughed heartily and squeezed her to him, spinning her out into the hallway. "Oh, we missed you, Hermione," he told her, voice husky and deep. Hermione didn't reply; she simply savored the embrace until in was broken, minutes later, by Ron. "Come on," he said, taking her hand. "Everyone wants to see you." As he started away, dragging her behind, Hermione pulled on his hand, stopping him.

"What do you mean, everyone? You're back already?"

"Something like that," Ron said with a shrug. "We couldn't get in; we're regrouping. When you flooed out, you tripped the alarms; no one in, no one out. Luckily, we noticed this all before we got too close; Mauriz isn't any wiser to us."

"So everyone just... came back?"

"Yes, technically; everyone but Harry and Draco. We weren't ready to attack; Harry went ballistic this morning, I still don't know what he was thinking," Ron rambled, but Hermione hadn't heard more than a sentence. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach and Janelle's fears regenerated within her.

"Where're Harry and Draco?" she asked tentatively, trying desperately to keep herself calm. Ron shook his head with a sigh.

"Well, when Harry couldn't get in, I suppose he flew off in a tyrant... he'll be back before dusk, I wouldn't worry about him," he explained. "As for Draco, well..." Hermione held her breath; her heart was pounding and she could feel her hands start to shake again. "He flooed back in and didn't come out." She scarcely dared to breathe.

"What... what does that mean?" she asked tentatively. "Is he..." Ron looked at her quizzically, as if she were speaking gibberish, putting Hermione near tears at his lack of answer. "They'll take him to Mauriz," she stated. "It's treason. They'll kill him." At this revelation, Ron's eyebrows shot into his hair. Humor overrode his shock and he laughed aloud, pulling Hermione back into him.

"No! Malfoy isn't dead, Hermione. He can talk his way out of it, I promise you. They won't kill him; he's a husband, remember? Practically royalty? He'll be fine. Don't worry yourself about Malfoy," Ron instructed, patting the back of her head and rocking slightly. Hermione crumbled a wad of his shirt in her hand, squeezing in an attempt to quell her shaking fingers. "That isn't like you. Since when do you give a rat's ass about him, anyway?" Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, holding on to her best friend as if he were her source of life. There was a pregnant pause in which Hermione tried to word what she was feeling, but soon gave up and dramatically understated the ache in her heart.

"He saved me, Ron. He saved me from everything."

-

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	9. Pearls and Peril

Erstwhile on TUB:

"That isn't like you. Since when do you give a rat's ass about him (Malfoy), anyway?" Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, holding on to her best friend as if he were her source of life. There was a pregnant pause in which Hermione tried to word what she was feeling, but soon gave up and dramatically understated the ache in her heart.

"He saved me, Ron. He saved me from everything."

-

Chapter Nine: Pearls and Peril

Hermione braced herself as they reached the bottom of the staircase; her heart was beating wildly. She could hear the merriment of the returned in the dining room, coupled with clinking glasses and buoyant conversation. Ron was grinning at her side, proud to be her escort, and held her hand firmly in his; as if afraid she might run away.

As they stepped up to the threshold, no one seemed to pay mind to their presence. Clusters of people were stationed at different spots of the table, some hunched over maps and papers while others seemed simply to be talking; remembering their recent adventure. Janelle was attached to Neville, tears of joy gathering at the corners of her eye as she tied herself tightly around his waist, hardly ready to let him go again. Neville seemed amused and slightly embarrassed, a tiny bit of red prickling his cheeks, but if Janelle was anything like Hermione had seen that morning, she doubted it wasn't a regular occurrence.

Ron seemed amused at the party spread before him; goblets dotted the room, brimming with choice wine. It was ironic to him that their guest of honor, for which the party was thrown, went unnoticed by the crowd. He noticed that Hermione did not seem disappointed; she was inspecting the room with a guarded eye, watching the different people as if trying to remember who they were. To direct attention away from the wine and on the woman beside him, Ron cleared his throat. The jovial chatter died down immediately and few by few, each head turned in the direction of the doorway. Hermione frowned and he could feel her trembling. She looked like a sheep at the mercy of wolves, tormented by their stare.

"Hallo, kids; I think we all remember Hermione," Ron said, to break the awkward silence, but it did very little. It was not known to many that Hermione had been safely retrieved; Janelle had only spared time to mention it to Ron before attacking her husband with kisses and many of the room stared more intently; eyes widened. Hermione unconsciously took a step back. She didn't like this attention; it was too much at once. She felt vulnerable and small, at the mercy of the masses.

"Hermione..." someone said, standing from his chair and moving slowly toward her, as if awed by her presence. "Cor, it's been ages," he said, taking the hand not occupied by Ron's and shaking it softly. Hermione watched him warily, feeling waves of tension course over her spine. Slowly, others began to move from their places and come toward her, ready to greet an unforgotten face. Ron looked cavalier, as if escorting a foreign princess to meet with the king. Hermione felt immured by their approaching figures, finding it harder to breath with so many bodies nearing to her. "It's me," said the man, whom Hermione had forgotten while focusing on the crowd. "Dean. Dean Thomas," he said. "And there's Seamus and Angelina, and Lee Jordan..." Even as Dean continued, Hermione felt herself getting lightheaded. She moved her hand from his grasp and placed it to her temple, wobbling slightly and blinking her eyes. The world was spinning, and she couldn't concentrate on any one thing; all was a jumble of colors and noises she didn't understand. It was all she could do to stay standing.

The chaos stopped suddenly, like waking from a dream, and Hermione felt as if she'd been hit with a wave.

"Well?" Ron prodded from beside her, looking between her face and those of the figures recently reintroduced. "Aren't you going to say something, Hermione?" At once, every eye re-locked on her face. Hermione felt the sudden urge to scream; she opened her mouth, but uttered no sound. When she decidedly could not stand their presence any longer, she turned and scorched a path across the hardwood before pounding up the staircase.

Hermione reached the bathroom at the end of her hallway within seconds of being violently sick over the side of the plaster basin. After her stomach had been emptied, Hermione continued heaving, though she had nothing left to disgorge. When her spasms stopped, she slumped onto the floor, aching and exhausted. Her heart pounded in her ears, beating in time to her rapid breathing, and Hermione cried. She wanted Draco; something inside let her believe that if he came back, he could fix things. If he were with her, she wouldn't be scared. She needed him, and he wasn't there.

-x-x-x-

Hermione dragged herself from the bathroom and fell into bed, trembling and feverish. She couldn't remember falling asleep or even thinking; merely waking up as the sun was setting. Her stomach had settled, but her mind was uneasy; she was glad, at least, that no one had followed her.

Hermione sat up and moaned softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. In his cage, the little owl Fagan tittered mercilessly, hearing her rise. With a quirky smile, she swung her legs out of bed and stood, moving toward him; an owl she could handle.

"Hallo, love," she said softly, moving aside the night curtain to see his glittering hazel eyes. "Fancy a fly?" He hooted softly, spreading his wings and straightening, and Hermione sighed happily as she opened the cage and ran her fingers over his feathers. "You're a good bird, you know," she told him. "Very pretty, no matter your color." Fagan nibbled her finger, but neglected to respond, and Hermione moved to open the window. When the sash had been drawn up and the room exposed to evening air, Fagan let a wild howl, bursting from his cage and out the window at lighting speed. Hermione blew him a kiss before shutting the portal against the cold and watched him fly into the sunset.

When the bird became a speck, and the speck was lost in the abyss of golds and blues, Hermione turned her eyes to the ground below. The cow was still grazing, tied to her tree, but the chickens had nestled into their barn, resting their feathers until the rooster's morning call.

Hermione sighed again, sadly this time; it had been years since she had gone outside; she missed the smell of fresh air and the feel of wind and sunshine. Her skin was deprived of the vitamins needed to keep it healthy and though it had once been a warm copper color, it was now nearly while against the pink of her bitten nails.

Struck with an idea, Hermione shut the drapes. She dug through the basket of clothing provided by Janelle in search of something warmer to wear than her summer dress and found a hooded cloak with a broken clasp. Smiling, she donned it quickly and fastened it with a safety pin. Once her shoes had been tied tightly to her feet, Hermione slowly opened the door of her room and peered out into the hallway. It was deserted and she sighed, approaching the staircase. She could hear voices from the floor below, but they seemed quite far away and she descended slowly.

The entry room was empty, though shadows danced in the adjacent family room, where low voices spoke in careful tones. Ignoring their conversations, Hermione tiptoed across the foyer and slipped silently out the front door, grinning as it closed noiselessly behind her. She felt free; it was a dream. She could go anywhere and do anything; run as fast as desired, jump in the air, laugh, dance, scream –anything, and no one could stop her. It was amazing.

Taking off at an enthusiastic run, Hermione dashed around the corner of the house and past the many windows without care, making her way over the expanse of the rear yard, allowing her legs to pump and the sun to wash her wispy hair.

Less than half way across the patio, Hermione began to feel the burn of her unused muscles. Determined, she forced herself to press on, running with knees high to the little bench near her admired cow. She made it, breathing heavily and throbbing in pain, but with a feeling of accomplishment she hadn't felt since Hogwarts. With a burning chest, she fell back onto the bench, throwing her arms to the sky and laughing at the fingers of the wind as they combed over her face and through her hair. Never had Hermione Granger felt more alive.

-x-x-x-

Harry Potter flew against the wind, letting the light rain bullets fog his lenses. When the sting was too much, he lowered to an altitude at which the droplets had evaporated, and continued his flight, aiming for home.

He hadn't felt so useless since living in a cupboard. Hermione was out there, at his fingers ends, separated from him by only a stone wall and he'd left her. He'd had to. Sirens howled and red lights flashed; dozens of Morzmen leaked from the front doors of the castle and surrounded its base like a human moat, armed with wands fused into spears. Alone, he was no use against them; he couldn't get in, he'd be killed...

And then she might never be free.

Harry fled. He flew upward until he couldn't breathe, then shot off toward the horizon like a bat out of hell. It was only when the storm hit and he was forced to take shelter did Harry think back on his decision to leave her. He was conflicted; he had been so close to saving her, to having her with him once more, free from the confines of the hell sent asylum. He felt cowardly, as if he had betrayed her; fled from a damsel in distress.

As the rain poured down, Harry tried to keep his sanity. He spoke aloud in contradictory sentences, making it seem more believable as he huddled alone in a thicket, leaning against a tree and seated in a muddy mass of mushrooms.

_It's better, for now, that she stays._ Harry thought to himself. _If I had been seen, they'd have captured me... maybe killed me. Whatever stopped Mauriz from hurting her before wouldn't work a second time; he'd take her... kill her. My sweet Hermione. _

He huddled against a tree, tears mingling with the rain drops sliding down his face. He didn't know what to think; Hermione was alone, in that castle, with only Malfoy to protect her. As much as Harry admired the changes in his comrade, he couldn't fully trust him. Something wouldn't allow Harry to believe Draco would protect Hermione if danger came her way; he was sure to try and save his own hide.

Unable to clear his mind of worries enough to doze; Harry stayed shivering and huddled against the bark of his tree, waiting out the storm. It seemed years before it passed, but he had watched the sun; only a few hours. When the visibility had increased and Harry could again attempt flight, he wrung out his clothes as well as possible while they remained plastered to his body and mounted his dampened broom before taking to the sky. His progress was slower, weighed down by the mass of the water soaked into his very being, and he had less control over the broom by way of the mud caked between its bristles. Nevertheless, Harry made it out of his forest hideaway and started back toward Hogwarts, making a wide loop around the castle and straining to see from a distance what changes had occurred.

It was a disenchanting sight; soldiers now paced the length of the foreground and courtyard, as well as each open level of the castle. Harry didn't doubt they were sprinkled along the inside walls as well. Mauriz definitely had manpower; those who took residence in the establishment were indebted to the madman. He allowed them shelter and food at a very low rent and, therefore, they were obligated by written contract, unbreakable by the blackest magic, to be at his beck and call. He drafted a reserve whenever motivated and members noted were to report to assigned bases if a red alert were to be called, as one had that morning.

As he watched, Harry swallowed, feeling guilty. He must have tripped the alarm; he'd been very close to the castle when the sirens began to sound; either someone must had spotted him and sounded the alarm, or there were charms on the castle walls to alert in case of unauthorized personnel who may invade the territory. Having Maruiz's guards on alert was not a very good observation in regard to his _own_ troops, stationed unknowingly back at the farmhouse; it would mean that the element of surprise was lost. Surprise attacks were the only way an army of so few could defeat such an empire. The Hogwarts Establishment was much larger than any previously conquered and held within it tremendous power; Harry knew they wouldn't stand a lash's chance in hell at defeating them now. They would have to wait and observe while keeping their agents tucked under Mauriz's nose and wait out the wave of paranoia sweeping the area.

To Harry, that meant one thing; Hermione could not be saved. Her rescue would cause the suspicion to be turned toward the Hogwarts alumni, and they could not afford to be placed in the spotlight. If her liberation attempt failed, Harry felt sure that Mauriz wouldn't hesitate to kill her and he could not allow that to happen. No, he would have to suffer, as would she, for a few more months. When the hype settled down, then they would invade. _And I will get her then, even if it kills me_, Harry promised, sneering at the malevolent sight below him. _He will pay. God as my bloody witness, he will fucking pay._

Harry arrived back at the farmhouse just as the last specks of sunlight fell below the horizon. The sun itself had gone long ago, but the halo of orange which circled it was still visible as he landed, and he turned with a sigh to watch as it dripped downward. He couldn't help but to think about what Hermione might see from her window; if she had one. He wondered if she had talked at all with Draco, and what things he might have told her about him. Truthfully, Harry contemplated how he might have changed since he had left her, all those years ago. He would not kid himself to believe he was the same person; he knew otherwise.

Days ago, his world revolved around Ron, and Teige, and Neville's unborn baby, and farm work, and magic, and an enormity of other things, but it seemed now only to magnetize to Hermione and all memory of her.

-x-

_The funeral was beautiful. Harry framed his favorite picture of Hermione and burned it with arbutus and purple hyacinth. There were dozens of people, muggles and wizards alike, dressed in mourning clothing and circled around the little onyx tombstone in the middle of the open field, bowing their heads in prayer as the priest blessed their forsaken and chanted prayers for her afterlife. Harry wanted everything, as nothing was too good for Hermione; there was a white hearse led by black horses and a procession of carriages which had held the many mourners, tearing and sniffling on the shoulders of loved ones. Harry and Ron had ridden in the front car with Mister and Missus Granger, who seemed still to be in shock, as if Hermione were merely still away at school. _

_As the people gathered in a circle around the grave, strategically placed on the highest point of the field, Harry held the urn in a polished wooden box, holding it gently as if she really were inside. He had waited, silently, as the priest said his blessings, then placed the box on the ground and opened it, extracting the urn. Chanting prayers in Latin, Harry scooped a handful of ash from the vase, letting it slip through his fingers just as Hermione had. He finished his speech with guilty tears, and threw the ashes with the wind, letting the spring breeze carry them over the meadow. Mister and Missus Granger followed his example, speaking not but to bid their daughter goodbye as they watched her memory spread into the open air, and Ron finally, after them, poured the remaining amount into the air, wiping his eyes as he set the urn on its pedestal. _

_After a moment of silence, the guests began to leave. Harry, Ron, and the Grangers stood in a circle around the pedestal, waiting until the last sobbing woman had left for the carriages, leaving only that which would hold the closest family of the recently departed. The hearse and horses had left long ago, paid by the hour, and the quartet of mourners were left alone on the hillside, their black attire clashing with the crisp March breeze. It was Harry who moved first, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. _

_"Mister and Missus Granger," Harry said, voice wet and cracking. "I thought you might..." he started, reaching down into the wooden box which had held the now empty urn. "I thought you might like to have this." The Grangers shared a look of uncertainty as Harry pulled from its container a much smaller urn, holding within it the memory of their daughter, concealed in hand painted china and prepared with Harry's heavy heart. Missus Granger nodded at Harry, taking the little vase as if it were made of the frailest of blown glass. _

_"Thank you, Harry," she said. "For everything." Missus Granger pitched forward, wrapping her arms around Harry while remaining wary of her urn, cradling it in her hands. Harry allowed her to embrace him, though he felt as if he had betrayed her. "You know," she said, pulling back, and varied her gaze between the boys. "I remember when you boys were just eleven; Hermione was so miserable when she went off to school for the first time. She'd never been away from home before... and she hadn't made many friends. I almost considered bringing her home," Missus Granger continued, looking up at the sky as if it would give her insight. "But I didn't. Just as I promised myself to ask in my next letter, she wrote to me... about two little troublemaking boys who had saved her from some no-doubt childish bit of mischief... and she had sounded so happy. I knew... That's when I knew that she'd be all right; that things would turn out and she could finally be in high spirits. You boys were everything to her." _

_"Likewise, Missus Granger," Harry interrupted, hoping a comment would stop the flow of conversation; the memories were too painful to relive._

_"We were blessed to have known her." Ron nodded solemnly, feeling somehow unworthy of entering the conversation. He felt odd about listening, as if he were intruding. _

_"Livy," Mister Granger interrupted softly, breaking the awkward stare between his wife and Harry. "Leave the boy be; we've a luncheon to prepare for," he reminded her reluctantly, as if he would much rather stay in the field of gold with his lost child than entertain and receive a thousand more condolences. _

_"Yes," Missus Granger agreed. "Of course, you're right." Without word, the Grangers and Ron began to move toward the carriage, walking sluggishly and slow. Harry, however, stayed on the hillside and his companions turned back._

_"Harry?" Ron inquired, voice breaking the glassy atmosphere. Harry didn't move. _

_"Go on, Ron. I'd like to walk back, if that's all right." _

_"Harry, it's nearly a mile, just to town! Please, come with us..." Missus Granger burst, concerned with his safety, but Harry shook his head. _

_"I'll be fine, Missus Granger; please, just go on." _

_Reluctantly, they left him alone with his grief, and Harry had reached to his neckline to clutch the little pendant that hung from a silver chain. He stood that way for hours more before starting the trek back into town. _

_"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "You're dead because of me; if I had just... I..." Harry shook his head. "I loved you. I didn't mean this; I hope you know that. I hope to God that you know that."_

-x-

Harry found himself sobbing at the vivid memories, clutching his pendant just as he had that day. He had never told Ron, or anyone else, what it truly was; it was Hermione. He had had it specially crafted; a hollowed black pearl, which was filled with the ashes burnt for her funeral. It was all he had left of her; he didn't trust anyone with such information. He knew they suspected it had something to do with her, as he was very protective of the pearl, but no one could know just how deeply her connection was to it.

Harry let go hastily, as if it were heated, and shook his head, resting the handle of his broom on his shoulder as he wiped his eyes. He reprimanded himself; it was stupid to be so emotional. Hermione wasn't dead; the Grangers had been right, she'd still been off at school, however warped and horrible the building seemed. Now, she was under good conditions; Draco would take care of her in that respect. He had nothing to weep over, nor anyone to mourn, and still the black pearl called to him. It offered comfort and warmth, as Hermione always had, and though he knew now that it was even spiritually pointless to hold onto the memory of someone still alive, Harry clutched the pearl with curled fingers, protecting it with a vicious will. She still lived there, hanging from his neck, no matter where her body lied. Even though she breathed, her heart beat beside his.

Harry opened the front door and closed it softly behind him, dragging his muddy broom across the foyer floor and starting for the staircase, leaving a dirty brown streak over the hardwood.

"Hermione?" called a cheery voice from another room, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks, unable to breathe. "Hermione, is that you? Everyone is sorry for..." Janelle appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, her grin falling as her eyes landed on Harry. He could see the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

"_What_ did you just say?" Harry asked, dropping his broomstick on the stairs and moving quickly toward her, stalking. Janelle took a step back, against the wall beside the door, startled.

"I said 'Harry, is that you?' I wanted to tell you that everyone is sorry for following you this morning," she fibbed quickly, but Harry didn't buy it. He shook his head, ignoring her words without any sign of surprise over learning his troops had backed him.

"No, you said Hermione. I_ heard_ you... she's here? Where?" he demanded, stepping closer. Janelle sighed, slouching against the wall.

"This isn't how I wanted you to find out..." she admitted, mumbling, but Harry was by no means in a mood for hesitation. He took her by the shoulders and squeezed, pressing her against the wall. Janelle looked startled, instantly placing both palms splayed protectively over her stomach. "Harry... you're hurting me, Harry."

"I don't _want_ games, Janelle. I've never to my record harmed a woman, but I'll make my first exception if you don't _tell me where she is_," he repeated threateningly. "_Right now, _Janelle. I mean it." Janelle, shaking slightly, opened her mouth to speak, but was unable to, as Harry was hit by a blunt force from the side, sending him sprawling across the floor, and his grip on her shoulders caused her to pitch forward with him, startling the words from her mouth. Harry's hands were ripped from her flesh and Janelle gasped, straightening to see what had hurt him so viciously. Neville stood with narrowed eyes and nostrils flaring, taking a large step to stand protectively in front of her.

"Harry," he stated calmly, watching the raven haired ex-Gryffindor lift himself from the floor. "I don't care _what_ happened to you today, nor do I care how much you want to see Hermione, or even that you love her. Your uncharacteristic behavior just now has made me reconsider how well I really know you. I can't trust you anymore, Harry; quick, wasn't it? A minute ago, I'd have given my life if you asked me... but _threatening_ a woman? _My wife_; who would do anything to help you without a second thought, and has never harmed a hair... and in such a condition? That's an all time low, Harry, for anyone I've ever met; all Malfoys included."

"Neville," Janelle whispered from behind him, curling her fingers around his upper arm. Neville placed a hand over hers, but otherwise ignored her, keeping his piercing eyes on Harry. He seemed for the most part unfazed, though he made a noticeable effort to remain calm.

"Is Hermione here?" he demanded coldly, fixing Neville with a glare at delaying his progress. As he took a step forward, Neville held up a hand, stopping him.

"Don't you come near me, Harry; neither of us. I'll tell you, yes, Hermione is here. I'll tell you where, just don't you touch Janelle. Don't you ever..."

"Where is she, Neville?" Harry demanded and Janelle squeezed Neville's arm.

"Tell him," she whispered. "He's rash, he's not thinking... please, Nevy, stop this." Neville sighed; he couldn't argue.

"She's out with Tully, on the bench near the brook," he said and without a moment to spare on thought, Harry started speedily for the great doors. "Just watch your step, Harry!" Neville called after him; sounding the most threateningly Janelle had ever heard him. When Harry had disappeared, leaving behind him a swinging door, Neville turned toward his wife, rigid countenance softening in worry. "Are you all right, baby?" he asked, curling his fingers around her ears and checking her shoulders lightly for injury. Janelle nodded, sighing in attempt to relieve the tension tightening the muscles of her neck and back.

"I'm fine," she promised, looking up at her husband with admiring eyes. Neville inspected her face, as if to determine whether or not she was lying, then nodded in agreement and kissing her forehead before pulling her toward him.

"I'm sorry," he voiced, holding her head to his chest. "I'd never thought... Harry would..." Neville sighed. "We're going home," he decreed, pulling back and holding her face between his palms. "Tonight; I don't feel right about staying here." Janelle shook her head.

"No, Nevy... Harry's fine; he's been through some things and his world's just fallen out from underneath him. We were withholding information; I don't blame him for snapping like that. We can't leave; you've to help with the conquer and I want to be here for Hermione; she'll need a friend after all that happened this afternoon, and I like her. I want to make sure she's all right," she explained softly, holding lightly to his wrists. Neville smiled at her and shook his head, bending to place a sultry kiss upon her lips.

"I love you, Nell," he reminded her, grinning. Janelle smiled up at him pleadingly, and Neville sighed. "All right, if it means that much to you; we can stay. But be careful with Harry; please. Stress is one thing you don't need right now," he dropped a hand to land lightly on her stomach, but didn't follow its progress with his eyes. "Do you feel all right? Anything strange?" Janelle shook her head and laughed, embracing her husband.

"Harry was hardly stress compared to what you did to me this morning," she admitted, eyes closed and buried in his shirt. Neville blanched, looking somewhat scared as he held her to him.

"Me?" he asked. "What did I do?"

"You left me, didn't you? Oh, Nevy, I was so worried... I was so sure you'd be gone forever; days and months... and I'd be here all alone with no one but Hermione, just worrying and wondering where you were..."

"Oh," Neville said, sounding almost relieved. "I know," he sighed. "I'm sorry; I had to go, you know that. It's my duty as a part of the Hogwarts alliance... we've talked about this."

"I know, Nevy," Janelle told him, frowning now as she nuzzled into him. "But did you have to go this time? With the baby so close? I can't do _that_ without you... I just couldn't." Neville smiled.

"I've good news, then," he told her. "You won't have to." Janelle looked up in surprise, suspicious.

"Why?" she asked; she knew he was dedicated to the cause and would leave in the middle of her childbirth if Harry asked it of him; her request shouldn't have meant a thing.

"Draco tripped the alarms when he flooed Hermione out," he explained, smoothing her hair. "We can't attack again until we can surprise them; it'll be months, maybe years before we're ready. This time we'll _plan_ the battle, instead of just following love-drunk Harry into suicide fire. I'm here to stay." Janelle, in spite of the part of her heart that went out to the woman in their concentration hell, squealed, launching herself at her husband and capturing his lips, the tension gone without trace from her body.

-

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	10. Evergleam

Erstwhile on TUB:

"Draco tripped the alarms when he flooed Hermione out," he explained, smoothing her hair. "We can't attack again until we can surprise them; it'll be months, maybe years before we're ready. This time we'll _plan_ the battle, instead of just following love-drunk Harry into suicide fire. I'm here to stay." Janelle, in spite of the part of her heart that went out to the woman in their concentration hell, squealed, launching herself at her husband and capturing his lips, the tension gone without trace from her body.

-

Chapter Ten: Evergleam

Harry could hear nothing but the beating of his own heart and rapid breathing as he burst through the front doors of the farm house and sprinted his way around the corner and down the length of the side yard. He stopped immediate the corner and his breath hitched in his throat. He could do nothing but stare; she was there. After all this time, she was there, stretched over the little bench and petting Tully the cow slowly across her big pink nose. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't move.

"Hermione!" he called, hearing his voice echo over the yard. She spun, startled, and Tully dashed away in fear. Harry ached to touch her, to hold her; to make sure she was real. He ran then, and before he had even realized his feet had been freed from their shackles, he was beside her, pressing her figure to his chest.

-x-

Hermione spun as she heard her voice called from afar and stood as she saw a man running toward her. At first, she felt disappointed that it hadn't been Draco, and frowned in confusion as she tried to place the man's features. His disheveled locks fell into his dirty face, hiding any element that might spark a memory in her mind, and Hermione was left to wonder as she watched him quickly gain ground. Then, when just the expanse of a few meters separated them, he looked up and connected their gaze with his brilliant green eyes. Hermione gasped, instinctively letting her hands fly to cover her gaping mouth. Her eyes watered at the surge in her chest.

"_Harry_," she whispered, too quiet for even herself to hear. He was with her in a second, lifting her from the ground in a crushing embrace. Harry spun around twice before placing her back on her feet and tying his arms securely around her. Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of his robes, no different now than it had been in seventh year. She held balls of his vest in the palms of her hands, squeezing to quell her shaking fingers, and cried softly into his chest while he held her. Harry made no move other than to rock them slowly back and forth. Hermione wasn't sure if he was even breathing. She sniffled, tears leaking from her eyes, and Harry started at the sound as if from a dream. He sprang immediately to life, placing kisses along the side of her face and scattering them in her hair.

"God, Hermione," he whispered, and Hermione could hear the strain in his voice, as if he wanted badly to scream. She basked in his attentions until he finally pushed her shoulders, bringing her to stand just decimeters away. Hermione could say nothing as she stared at him, gaze locked on his troubled face. Harry brought his hands to hold her cheeks, touching her as he would a frightened child; with tenderness and care. She smiled a moment later, lifting her hand to run her fingers over his cheek.

"Harry," she said softly, sounding amused. "Where are your glasses?" He studied her, etching each of her features into the slate of his mind and trying to absorb all there was to feel. A shaky smile graced his lips at her question, and Harry pitched forward once more to mark a train of kisses along her forehead. He laughed aloud, pressing his brow to rest against hers.

"I had a procedure; I don't need them," he answered, despite all that was happening, and Hermione laughed, her face aglow from the light of her smile. Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I wouldn't anyway, not now. I don't need them; I don't need anything. You're home again." Touched, Hermione shied away.

"Harry," she said, almost in a scolding manner, and he smiled dashingly at the brilliant blush which lit her cheeks. Slowly, she turned her gaze to meet his jade colored eyes, and saw the humor fade from his face.

"I told you I was coming," he said, tone grave. "How did you get here? Why didn't you wait for me?" Hermione looked honestly confused.

"What do you mean, Harry?" she asked, letting his name roll off her tongue, so sparsely used. "Justin called us this morning and said you'd gone crazy and planned to storm the castle; Draco flooed us out."

"I told you I was coming," Harry repeated. "The books, didn't you read them?" Hermione nodded slowly, tilting her head to the side. "Pride and Prejudice; your favorite... three ten, I wrote a note; didn't you see? October third, Hermione. That's today." Memories came rushing back to her; sitting on the floor of Draco's bedroom and pondering the meaning of the message; thinking through it in arithmancy; conversation concerning Harold of Mandisa Field.

"I didn't know what you meant," she admitted, speaking softly. "Harry, why did you do it? You shouldn't have come; you could've gotten yourself killed; I'd never forgive myself..."

"I missed you, Hermione," he said, running his thumbs over her cheeks. Her anger was quickly sobered and she regained her emotional low. "All the time; every waking hour and often in my dreams. I... I thought I'd never see you again."

"Oh, Harry," she returned, frowning sadly, and moved to place a comforting kiss on his cheek. "I'm sorry." He grew instantly rigid, but his grip remained soft. Harry lifted his forehead from its rest against hers and eagerly shook his head.

"No," he said. "Don't say that, Hermione. Don't you ever say that. Everything that has happened has been completely my fault; you should be cursing me for it, not apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for, Hermione. Nothing."

"Harry..." Hermione said, surprised, and tried to console him. "You didn't know..."

"But I _did_, Hermione. I'll admit that what happened that day in the great hall wasn't anyone's fault, not really... but I should have done something. Afterward, when word spread and we were back on our feet... I gave up on you. I left you for dead. God, I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so _sorry_."

It was Hermione who pulled a tearful head to her chest this time. She enveloped Harry, watching with unease as the grief washed over him, and seated them both on the little wooden bench. Harry cried as she had never seen him; his frail body wracked with sobs and shaking under the pressure of his thoughts. She whispered softly to him, promising that she felt no spite or anger for his deeds and understood the intentions behind his motives. Harry said nothing more for a long while, keeping his arms wrapped around Hermione's waist as she ran her fingers through his tangled hair. Hermione, too, kept quiet, allowing the surreal silence to cocoon them in a web of silver moonlight as the lunar body replaced its predecessor. When Harry had calmed to mere trembles, Hermione heaved a heavy sigh, and his head lifted slightly from her chest.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no words could explain all that he wanted to tell her, and he was left with nothing but a silent exhale. Hermione smiled softly, kissing his forehead to assure that she understood.

"It's getting dark," she noted conversationally, glancing up at the moon. Harry joined her for only a minute before returning his eyes to her calm countenance. "And a bit cold, don't you think? Maybe we should go inside?" She was speaking just above a whisper, but her words hung in the heavy night air. Harry sat up at her suggestion, wiping at his eyes and putting on a more masculine face. Hermione smiled amusedly at him, remembering an awkward looking raven haired teenager with incorrigibly broken glasses and a perpetual blush. She really had missed him.

Harry nodded firmly and stood from the bench, chivalrously offering her his hand as assistance. Hermione was glad for it; she was both emotionally and physically exhausted, despite her long nap the passing afternoon. As they started back toward the humble building, Hermione limped slightly on her left leg. She had just begun to suspect that she may have pulled something through the exertion she had undergone post leaving the front doors of the farmhouse, when she felt herself being lifted from the ground. She tried to shriek but made not a sound and clutched Harry's shoulders, holding on as if her life depended on it. It was not a moment later that the origin of such a phenomenon reached her; Harry had lifted her in his arms, carrying her like a damsel as he quickly made his way toward the patio doors.

"Harry," Hermione hissed into the night, tightening her grip on his shoulders and nestling her head against the cradle of his neck. "What are you doing?"

"You're hurt," he said, shifting her in his arms. "I'll take care of you, Hermione." She could feel his arms tighten. "I won't let anyone hurt you; never again. I won't fail you a second time." Hermione frowned, but did not have the heart to tell him she had inflicted the wound on herself and shatter his dream of repaying her for his previous shortcomings. Instead, she remained silent and closed her eyes, welcoming the warmth Harry offered to her.

He carried her over the threshold and through an empty dining room before entering the foyer and starting toward the stairs. Janelle appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a hand over her stomach and leaning against the frame to take weight off her swollen ankles.

"Harry?" she asked tentatively. "What's happened? Do you need help?" Janelle took a step into the room and Harry shook his head decisively, moving backward and away from her. Hermione could feel him tense, tightening the hold he held over her. He acted as if Janelle had wanted him to give her up, to hand her over to her care; he was afraid of losing her.

"No," he said, turning away and starting slowly up the stairs. "No, Janelle. We're fine." She looked skeptical, but gave a nod nonetheless.

"All right. Dinner should be ready in just an hour or so," she called up to them, but Harry made no move to show he'd heard her. With an etching of worry marked into her brow, Janelle returned to the kitchen to continue directing her sister around making a roast. The girl could rewire an entire house and have not an inkling of idea on how to make an egg.

-x-x-x-

Harry brought Hermione to the second story hall, and made his way to the very end, opening a door and displaying a disaster of a room. His bed left unmade, books and paper littered the floor, clothes lay strewn over chairs and atop his desk and armoire, and Hedwig's empty cage looked as if it could use a scouring charm.

Paying no attention to anything but the task at hand, Harry closed the door behind him and brought Hermione to his bed, setting her softly in a reclining position and placing a hand on her chest to keep her there. She complied with a frown and remained still even as Harry moved toward her feet, lifting the skirt of her dress to better view her damaged leg.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked and began pinching portions of muscle between his fingers. Hermione lay motionless until he touched a sensitive spot at the side of her knee, and flinched, biting her lip to hold back a whimper. "There," Harry determined with less than astute conviction and bent his head to place a kiss over the spot. He fished his wand from its pocket in his robes and placed the tip to the locus, lovingly whispering a delicate spell. His wand tip grew icy within seconds, making Hermione squirm in discomfort, but Harry held fast and it soon grew warm, relaxing the muscles which had caused her such pain. Hermione noticed the difference immediately, and Harry slipped his wand back into his cloak.

"Thank you," Hermione said, allowing herself to sit upright beside him. He gave her a boyish and crooked smile and leaned in for what would be the umpteenth kiss to the skin of her face. Whether by mistake or disguised intention, Harry's lips made their first contact with Hermione's and he did not pull away. It was a chaste kiss, close lipped and off guard, which ended slowly with simultaneous exhale. "_Harry_," Hermione breathed, surprised at him, and Harry did not move away as he answered her unspoken questions.

"Hermione," he said softly, licking his lips. "I have to tell you something. I have to; _now_, before I lose another chance." He paused. "That letter, that I sent through the floo; do you remember?" Hermione knew instantly what his next words would be and tentatively nodded, keeping eyes closed to avoid contact. "I meant it. I love you, Hermione; I had, for years, and never spoke it to a soul. I think Ron knew, but I never told him, not until you were gone..." He smiled. "But you're back now; we can finally be together. We can tell the world; we can go anywhere you like, and just live, how we should have for the last half a decade. Together, forever."

"Harry," she said softly. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Say where. Say you'll run away with me," Harry suggested, moving ever closer. He swallowed. "Say you love me. Please, Hermione; I don't know what I would do if... if..."

"I do love you, Harry," she promised him, finally opening her eyes to stare into his with conviction. "We've been friends for thirteen years; if I said I didn't love you I'd be lying. I'm just confused, and tired, and dirty... I don't know what to make of anything."

"Come with me," he pleaded again, taking her hand in his. "I'll help you; we can put our lives back together and make things the way they used to be. We'll be happy; I can make you happy, Hermione."

"I know you can, Harry. I am happy, right now, just sitting here with you; I've missed you too," she said, smiling, and Harry returned it. It was only a moment later that Hermione's face slightly fell and she sighed. "I just don't know what to tell you, Harry; I've just gotten here. I don't want to leave everybody all over again... Ron, Neville, everyone from Hogwarts... Janelle and I have a lot in common and I haven't been properly introduced to Teige yet. It's too fast, Harry. I haven't even seen my parents. I don't think they know I'm here."

"It doesn't have to be now," Harry told her, lifting a hand to touch her face. "When you're ready, we'll go. Just the two of us, together. Come with me?" Hermione blinked as he stared intensely at her, waiting and hoping for the answer he wanted. She knew Harry had only the best intentions and would commit murder before harming her, but something inside was wary of him. A piece of her conscious forgotten with all that had happened within the past week, reawakened and sending alarming signals to her brain.

"All right, Harry. I'll come with you," she said softly, eyes trained on the cotton sheets below her. Harry scarcely breathed.

"Really?" he said after a moment, needing verification of her answer. Hermione smiled for his benefit, tilting her head upward.

"Of course, Harry. Why wouldn't I? If it's what you want, then of course I'll come," she repeated, and Harry inhaled sharply, pitching forward. Instinctively, Hermione concluded that he was about to kiss her, and readied herself for contact of their lips. Harry, however, stopped himself just as they touched, marking a feather light peck on the coral pink of her mouth. Hermione exhaled tentatively, surprised and at an odd high induced by lack of anticipated climax.

Harry moved slightly forward, as if asking permission to her mouth, and Hermione allowed him, seeking some way to relax from the rush of adrenaline his quick movement had caused. Harry wasted not a moment more before he kissed her, holding the nape of her neck to his fingers ends as his mouth worked against hers, instigating a deep and loving kiss. Hermione kissed him back, as she knew not what else she could do, and waited patiently for the embrace of lips to end.

Harry broke away only for a moment, gasping great amounts of air before beginning again a lover's act which lacked half the required love. This time, he grew bolder, pushing her down on the mattress and shifting to loom over her. Hermione's brow creased in confusion, but she continued to humor his intentions. He mumbled declarations of love and breathed words of nothing into her skin, his voice growing heated and slurred. Hermione played along, leisurely kissing his swollen lips and displaying mild reactions to his touches and the things he said. She felt amazingly awkward, knowing she was snogging the man who was supposed to be her best friend, and slightly guilty, as if betraying some unknown person. Still, she let Harry have his fun, assuming no harm could come out of his schoolboy exploration and that it would allow him to release some of the bottled up feelings he seemed to have harbored for years.

It wasn't until Harry's hand found her knee that Hermione had a negative reaction to his displays of love. She was wary of this placement from the moment it was felt, and as Harry's hand inched upward, moving aside the thin fabric of her summery dress and scaling the length of her thigh, she tensed. Harry felt this and kissed her softly, as he would a nervous virgin, before continuing the escalation of his hand. When the pad of his middle finger lifted the hem of her underwear and slid down the length between her legs, Hermione gasped, pushing against his chest. Surprised, Harry moved back, resting his hand on the bed between her legs. Hermione was breathing rapidly, her chest rising and falling with incredible speed, and her hair was disheveled, making her look more frightened than she was confused.

"Harry?" she whispered, questioning him as she locked her knees tightly together. He gave half a smile and leaned forward, pressing a tiny kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Hermione," he repeated, breathless. "I'm going to show you; prove it to you. Don't be scared; relax..." Harry leaned forward again, and Hermione could feel his fingers lingering under her thighs, brushing at the fabric of her panties. Just as he touched his lips to hers, Hermione shoved him hard in the chest, growling in frustration. Harry was pushed only a few decimeters, but leapt away from her in sheer shock of her reaction. Hermione sat up and promptly smacked him across the face before swinging her legs over the side of the bed and stomping out of the room. Harry was behind her the moment he could compose coherent thought and realized that she was walking away from him. "Hermione!" he called to her, but she continued at a hurried pace, stomping up the stairs to the third story and making her way down the hall to her room. She was in the midst of closing the door when Harry impeded it with the rubber of his shoe. "Hermione, please; what's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_?" she asked, eyes alive and livid. "How _could_ you, Harry? You _know_ what I've been through... how my life has been. I haven't been celibate for a week and already you're trying to take me. I can't believe you. Harry, I thought I _knew_ you; I thought you understood," Hermione continued, her anger leaving only to be replaced by sorrow. "You've changed, Harry. I hoped I could come back here and fall in love with you... that I could compile all the times I'd missed you, and cried for you, and mourned you... and let all that feeling give birth to something more... and maybe I could have, if you were still that boy I loved all those years ago. I didn't think I'd know so soon; you aren't him. You can't be." She closed the door and turned the lock, not wasting a moment to wait for a response. Harry was stunned to silence for a time, then suddenly burst out, slamming his fist to the door.

"Hermione!" he shouted. "Hermione, no! You can't leave me again; you can't! I'm sorry!" Harry slammed his fist against the door repeatedly, calling out to her and pleading to be forgiven; he hadn't wanted to hurt or scare her. He'd wanted to love her. "Please don't leave me!"

-x-x-x-

Draco stumbled out of the dining room fireplace with a groan, pulling toward him the nearest chair. He sat down with an exhale of relief, and closed his eyes as he leaned back. Having heard the distinct swish of an incoming floo, Janelle walked swiftly into the room, carrying in her arms a breadbasket and water pitcher. She stopped still when she saw Draco, having expected a letter or some other means of post.

"Draco?" she asked, making him crack open one eye. Draco closed it again and sighed as Janelle scurried toward him, placing the basket and pitcher on the table. "God, Draco, what happened? You look you've fallen under a street sweeper." He moved a hand to rub at his eyes, which were raw and suggested he had done it frequently.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm fine; I had to walk two leagues just to get to the nearest town, now that Hogsmeade's been abandoned, so I could floo back. It'd have been four to get to apparating ground." He sighed. "Damn, I wish I'd brought my broom." Janelle laughed and stuffed a roll into his mouth before moving back toward the kitchen for more cargo.

"Draco, we have a serious problem," she stated as she placed a stack of plates at the end of the long dining table and began to set one to each of the placemats. Draco, chewing gratefully, tensed.

"What?" he asked, sitting straight. "Is it Hermione? What happened?" She tilted her head to the side.

"Well, somewhat, but she's fine, don't go balmy on me, now. I've had enough of that for one day."

"Well, blimey woman, what is it then?" Draco demanded, taking a more than modest bite of his roll. Janelle paused, sighing as she leaned her weight on the back of a chair and maneuvered to seat herself upon it.

"You see," she started, settling in. "Harry's come back." Draco stopped chewing instantly, and a pause ensued.

"Does he know she's here?" he asked, and Janelle nodded expressionlessly.

"It was all right for a while, I saw them outside having a teary reunion hugging and crying... and then he carried her in here, just ten, fifteen minutes ago, and brought her upstairs. I didn't hear anything for a while and I don't know what happened, but it wasn't good. He's pounding on her door, now, and she won't let him in. I don't know what to do, I'm frankly a bit afraid of Harry right now, and since... you seem to have a form of relationship with Hermione, I thought maybe you could...?" Draco nodded, popping the remainder of his dinner roll in his mouth and forcing himself to stand.

"I'll go see what's going on," he agreed, and slowly made his way to the foyer and up the stairs, looking very much in pain to be doing so. Draco wasn't big on exercise and walking an unexpected ten kilometers had understandably taken a lot out of him. Wondering why she had bothered to sit down, Janelle hoisted herself up with a sigh and went back into the kitchen to begin filling bowls of soup.

-x-x-x-nly burst out, slamming his fist to the door.

ou can't be." She closed the door and turned th

"Harry?" Draco asked tentatively as he peeked around the third story corridor, knowing through Janelle that Harry was trying unsuccessfully to breech Hermione's threshold. Harry was crumpled in a mass on the carpet, fingers tracing patters on the grain of the simple plywood door with a galled fingertip. "Harry?" Draco said again, approaching cautiously. "Are you all right?"

"She hates me," Harry said softly, resting his head against the doorframe. "She _hates_ me." Feeling almost as if he were intruding, Draco shifted his feet.

"Come on, Harry, that's not true," he started awkwardly, and Harry lifted his head a few centimeters from the wall before slamming it again against it. With a sigh, Draco stepped forward and knelt beside Harry, placing a palm on his shoulder. "She doesn't hate you."

"She _does_, Draco. I fucked it up. I lost her. _Again_," Harry said turning to his friend with eyes full of inner torment. He sniffled slightly, and sat up moving a hand to the left side of his chest. "I think my heart's stopped beating," he said softly, as if the realization had just occurred to him.

"Harry..." Draco started, as if asking him to be rational.

"Really," Harry pressed, moving his palm slightly. "Go on, feel it. Tell me if there's anything."

"Harry, I can feel it from here. You have to calm down; you'll have an aneurism if you keep this up. I'm worried for you, mate," Draco said, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze. Harry ignored him, moving his fingers to prod his neck, still searching for a pulse. Draco sighed. "What happened?" Harry paused, placing his palm gently back onto the door.

"I just wanted... to show her. How I felt, what I wanted. What it could be like. I never meant... never meant to hurt her," he said softly, whispering to the wood. "I'd forgotten what she'd been through. It's surreal, like she's back from the dead. I still can't believe she's been alive all this time." Harry slowly brought his hand to the little pearl which dangled from his neck, lacing the chain in his fingers. Suddenly, he turned to Draco. "You believe me, don't you? I didn't want her to _leave_."

"She hasn't gone anywhere, Harry. She's right here, behind this door... a little angry and hurt, but it'll pass. She'll forgive you, I promise you that. You've just got to be careful, Harry. She's fragile."

"God... Draco, I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry..."

"Did you tell _her_?"

"She won't listen. I don't blame her," Harry said, closing his eyes and knocking his head again to the wood of the door. Draco sighed.

"I'll talk to her," he declared, releasing Harry's shoulder and getting to his feet. Harry shook his head, still crouched on the floor.

"No... she won't listen."

"It couldn't hurt," Draco persuaded, and Harry heaved a deep sigh.

"Tell her... tell her I'm sorry," he pleaded, moving away from the door to allow him to enter. Draco nodded.

"Of course," he agreed before slowly turning the door knob and sneaking into the room. Hermione was curled in the corner of her bed with her back to the door, hugging a pillow as she wrote something on a slip of parchment. Fagan, the little owl, sat perched on her headboard, picking at her hair as if to comfort her. Draco shut the door noiselessly behind him and whispered a silencing charm over the bedroom. He had a feeling she would be in some way enthusiastic to see him, after what had occurred with Harry, and did not want the pitiful excuse for a man outside the door to hear her shouts. "Hermione?" he said softly, but his voice sounded foreign to him, and he cleared his throat. Hermione tensed from her place in bed.

"Harry, please," she said softly, squeezing the pillow to her face. "Just go away. Please."

"He's sorry, Hermione," he tried again, this time with a voice unmistakable as his own. "He told me to tell you that." Hermione spun her head to view him, writing piece forgotten and pillow loose in her grasp.

"Draco," she whispered in disbelief, before rolling out of bed and running to him, leaping into an embrace that was quickly returned. He held her close, holding her head to his chest and pressing his lips into her hair. She pulled back a moment later, placing her hands to the sides of his face and pulling him into a kiss of which he was tentative to respond. Ultimately, he couldn't help but do so.

"Hermione," he said when they had broken apart to breathe. "Please don't cry." He lifted a hand to brush away some tears, and Hermione looked up into his eyes.

"Draco, I thought I'd never see you again," Hermione confessed, sniffling, and Draco frowned, brushing hair behind her ear.

"No..." he assured, attempting to comfort her. "Now, why would you think that?"

"I was sure they'd kill you," she said, slamming her head into his chest and keeping her hands filled with the fabric of his cloak. "For treason. Assisted escape; maybe even espionage." Draco chuckled heartily.

"Oh, Hermione," he said. "Your imagination astounds me."

"Draco," she whispered, tilting her head upward. "_What happened?_" Draco smiled into her hair, twining his fingers into it, and closed his eyes.

"When I flooed back, it was just in time to have my door broken down by a bunch of Mauriz' cronies. He wasn't there, of course; god forbid he leave his study. Anyway, they wanted to know what happened... evidently, we set off some sort of alarm by leaving. I told them my wife had escaped me and flooed to somewhere called Benin, which I believe is in Africa, and that I couldn't remember her number. Which isn't really a lie," he said, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "I _don't_ know your number. They told me that was bad practice, and I took the opportunity to bite back and claim that _they_ should know. They're not really all that organized. I faked a tantrum and stormed out under the guise of being horribly disappointed in the establishment. Which allowed me to come home and see you... but unfortunately means I can never go back. Harry won't be happy, I..." He paused, and pushed her back a bit to face him. "Speaking of Harry," he said, lifting an eyebrow. "What's going on there?" Hermione's chin began to tremble. She hadn't been crying when he'd arrived, and Draco was beginning to feel guilty for making her do so afterward.

"He _touched _me," she admitted. "Just like... like _them_. You were right, Draco. Harry _is_ the same as all the others."

"Hey, now wait a minute," Draco said, but softly as not to upset her further. "I never said that; you're putting words in my mouth." Hermione shook her head.

"Maybe I said it. It doesn't matter. It's _true_. God, Draco... everything's different than I thought it would be. Harry's different, Ron's different... I can't stand to be around _anyone_. I almost want to go _back_. These last few days were the best of my life. Everything that happened before was worth it, now that I've had them, with you. Now I just want everything to go away."

"Hermione, will you listen to yourself?" Draco asked, seating her on the bed and taking the spot beside her. He tried not to look too relieved to be sitting down. "Look, Hermione... Harry _isn't_ like them. He's about as far from it as you could possibly hope to be; He just wants to prove to you how much he cares about you. _I'm_ like them. I used sex to get to you, to make you trust me. You can hate me for that, but don't misjudge Harry. He only has the best of intentions."

"That's easy for you to say," she said, taking his hand between her own and squeezing it as she continued. "You didn't feel it, Draco. I didn't want it. I didn't want any of it."

"He knows that now," Draco promised, bringing their hands to his lips and kissing her fingers. "He won't do it again. I can promise you that." Hermione paused a moment to think over Draco's words, then sighed and cuddled up to his side.

"God, Draco," she said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. "Why weren't you here when I needed you?"

-

A/N: Unaltered version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	11. Wings

Erstwhile on TUB:

"Look, Hermione... Harry _isn't_ like them. He's about as far from it as you could possibly hope to be; He just wants to prove to you how much he cares about you. _I'm_ like them. I used sex to get to you, to make you trust me. You can hate me for that, but don't misjudge Harry. He only has the best of intentions."

"That's easy for you to say," she said, taking his hand between her own and squeezing it as she continued. "You didn't feel it, Draco. I didn't want it. I didn't want any of it."

"He knows that now," Draco promised, bringing their hands to his lips and kissing her fingers. "He won't do it again. I can promise you that." Hermione paused a moment to think over Draco's words, then sighed and cuddled up to his side.

"God, Draco," she said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. "Why weren't you here when I needed you?"

-

Chapter Eleven: Wings

"Hermione, now we really _have_ to move," Draco said for what could have been the hundredth time, expressing amazing self discipline as he lounged his aching body on her glove-like mattress, basking in comfort. Hermione, who was glued to his side, shook her head and tightened her grip.

"Just a little longer; please, Draco."

"Harry's still waiting for you in the hallway; I've already been in here for half an hour. He'll start to get suspicious, even in the state he's in," Draco reminded, running fingers through her hair. Hermione's frown deepened and she opened her eyes, tilting her head to look up at him.

"I don't want to see him," she voiced, eyes pleading with Draco's misty grays. "I don't know if I'll ever want to see him again."

"Hermione, please be rational," he begged. "You must have seen how your absence has affected him, and even more your recovery. He could _die_ if you don't compromise and make some sort of effort. I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it." Hermione fell victim to a violent shudder and buried her head into his chest. Draco gave a swift nod of agreement and forced himself into a sitting position, clambering out of the bed and helping Hermione to stand. Her expression was blank and her eyes calculating, even as she stared at the floorboards. Just as Draco was about to open the door, her head jerked up and she held fast to his hand, startling him.

"Draco," she said so softly it could barely be heard. "Will you talk to him first? Please; tell him not to touch me... I don't want to feel that way again. I know it sounds dramatic, but I can't stand it." Draco sighed, but agreed, slipping through the door and into the hallway, leaving Hermione to prepare herself for a second reunion with her childhood best friend.

Harry was still seated across the hall, as it was assumed he would be, head bent forward and eyes closed from emotional exhaustion. With a sigh, Draco stepped forward and crouched down before him, moving a hand to rest upon his shoulder. Harry jumped clean out of his skin and Draco nearly fell backward in his attempt to move out of harm's way.

"Harry; Harry! It's all right! It's just me," he said quickly, and Harry calmed, breathing slightly labored and a rosy glow painted on his cheekbones. It took the raven haired man a moment to realize his situation, but he turned on Draco the moment conscious thought was granted on his mind.

"What did she say?" he demanded, eyes locked on the blond's. "She isn't coming out. She hates me, doesn't she? I told you; I told you..." Harry chanted, digging quaking fingers into his disheveled hair. Draco shook his head, placing a calming palm on his friend's shoulder.

"No, Harry. She's coming out; I told you she would. I just wanted to talk to you first," Draco lied, but it eased Harry's mind; his breathing calmed and his body relaxed, eyes turning toward his addressee. "Just be careful Harry. I'd avoid touching her at all for a while." Harry began to shake his head with intense conviction.

"I wouldn't. Not now, not ever again," he vowed, then added in an undertone, "not without permission."

"I don't just mean that," Draco corrected himself, brows crossing as he struggled for words. "I literally wouldn't _touch_ her; not a finger, anywhere. Trust me on this, Harry; it'll only make things harder for you." Harry swallowed hardly and thought over his friend's words, then gave a sturdy nod.

"I suppose you're right," he agreed and Draco sighed, patting his back.

"Good," he assured. "I assume you want to see her?" Harry looked up with widened eyes and could feel his heart pounding in his temple. With an awkward smile, Draco stood and moved toward the door, knocking once to alert its occupant before opening it fully. Harry stood and rushed into the room, not to his better judgment, looking in all direction for any sign of Hermione.

"Where?" he asked desperately, spinning frantically in the center of the space. Draco's half smile disappeared instantly and he took a step into Hermione's bedroom. The window was open and Fagan fluttered from it at Harry's outburst. Draco was left with his jaw slacked, staring in shock as his friend dropped to his knees. "_She's gone_."

-x-

Hermione emitted a tiny scream as she lost her footing and fell the remaining meter and a half to the ground. There had been no trellis leading from her window to the earth three stories below, and not time to construct any sort of climbing apparatus, leaving Hermione no choice but to jump from rooftop to rooftop and hope for the best. Luckily, the Hogwarts Inn was decked on all sides with wooden awnings to protect against wind; a feature Hermione took use of. She had begun to shimmy down a pole holding up the tiny covering that resided above the front door, but the wood was wet from the rain and slippery.

Hermione fell to the ground with a thump which wracked her body. She was winded for a moment, but regained herself quickly, hurrying to stand and spin toward the road. The sight was devastating; Hermione had never truly seen the front of the farmhouse. When leaving to visit Tully, her hurry prevented any image intake of her surroundings until she was met with the open backyard. It was this reason, as she stood at the little gate, that Hermione was surprised.

It seemed there were no houses for miles. The cracked cement road ran endlessly in both directions, but not a touch of human life was anywhere apparent. Her plan of escape had only flowed this far in her mind and Hermione was at a loss. She had no way of knowing just how far the next town was or which direction to choose and it would be sheer suicide to run off without such knowledge. With a heavy heart, she turned back to the little house of horror, seeing no other choice but to climb the steps to the door and face them all; Harry, Ron... and Draco.

Pausing momentarily to look her oppressor in the eye, Hermione lifted her gaze to the peeled paint and country trimming of the building before her. She allowed herself a moment to gaze over the front of the building, taking in every flaw and detail, from the small wooden onion at the tip of the roof to the cracks in the stone which composed the inviting steps. Hermione's gaze stopped and her reverie was broken as she stared with wide eyes at a foreign object lying haphazardly on the uprise.

A million thoughts jumbled themselves in the highway of Hermione's mind, trying to fit a broom shaped piece into the puzzle of her plan. In the time it took for her eyes to widen and her heart to race, the leaf had been squeezed between leaving and freedom, directly in the middle of the imageless beige picture that was her immediate future; waiting with anticipation to be flipped over or painted anew.

When surprised had dropped its guard and allowed conscious thought to permeate the nerves in Hermione's brain, she snapped into action and ran with incredible speed to the stone steps. In an instant, she held Harry's forgotten flyer in her palms, gripping the smooth wooden shaft with protectively curled fingers.

"Hermione!" She heard from above her, a voice she knew well to belong to Draco Malfoy. "Hermione!" he called again, voice cracking slightly and causing his tone and volume to suffer. Hermione frowned slightly to herself, letting her eyes gall the head of Harry's broom. She had never wanted to hurt Draco.

When he did not call again, Hermione assumed him heading down the stairs for the foyer and quickly mounted her broom, ascending slowly as she forced herself to remember the finer points of control. The shaft felt odd and uninviting between her legs, and only served to grant motivation; Harry had made her feel the same way.

Like riding a bike or tying one's shoes, Hermione easily recalled her childhood ease and grace on a broomstick. She flew high into the evening sky, thanking the twilight for its acceptance of her alien body. Unable to smother the biting urge, she turned back for one last look, slowing her airborne sweeper to a near stop. Harry was no longer in her bedroom, but instead in his own, hanging out the window in a loose and bent position as if someone had just washed him and hung him out to dry. One arm was crushed beneath his body while the other stuck out in front of him; he looked almost to have lost consciousness while reaching out to her. His eyes were wide and alive, though glazed and out of focus. Hermione shuddered. Harry was staring directly at her; had he blinked and breathed a breath of air into his sadly immobile body, he would surely have seen her, but he did not. Harry stared, but did not see.

"Hermione! Come back, please!" yelled a voice which most certainly did not belong to the raven haired rag doll in the windowsill. Hermione turned her face downward to where Draco immerged from the front doors, followed by two or three others. She paid them no attention, instead focusing her gaze on her savior. His blond hair gave him no advantage in the dim moonlight, making him blend in with the cobble path and lush lawn he ran across. "Hermione!" he called into the sky, in much a better state than his ex-enemy and comrade. Against her better judgment, Hermione blew him a kiss, putting into it all her apologies and regrets, leaving her free of burden and clean of conscience. "Hermione, no!"

She turned, maneuvering the broom with expert ease, and disappeared into the night. From the trees, a little orange owl followed in her wake.

-x-x-x-

Draco growled as he stomped up two flights of stairs, teeth clenched and hands balled into fists.

"Draco?" Janelle called from behind him, holding her stomach as she climbed. "Draco, what are you going to do?" He ignored her, turning around the platform on the second floor, where his own bedroom was located. He paused not a moment as he held out an upturned palm, beckoning a broom which loyally came when called. "Draco?" Janelle said again, now following him up the second flight. His pace and her stomach combined became too much for Janelle and, halfway between the second floor and third, she could take it no longer and slowed to a stop, dropping down to sit on the stairs and breathing quickly. Though labor was more than a month off, Janelle found herself falling into Lamaze rhythm, holding her stomach and practicing her exercises.

Draco paid her no attention as he continued his ascent of the stairs, marking a path of fire as he set a direct course down the third story corridor, turning sharply to enter Hermione's room where his cloak lay forgotten on her wrinkled duvet. He donned it quickly and made to turn back, fingers wrapped tightly around the shaft of his broom, but something on the bed caught his eye. Pausing and lifting a curious brow, Draco knelt on the mattress, still holding his broom, and reached across the length to the half filled sheet of parchment Hermione had been working on when he made his first appearance. He lifted it carefully, as if it were key evidence in a murder mystery, and began silently to read. There was no greeting or salutation; the note simply began.

_I don't know how to begin to say this. First, please sit down; I would not want to be the cause of any injury. My last visit with you occurred six years ago, almost to the date, at a little London train station. I stood with a cart full of books and a cage for my cat, wearing a pleated skirt and mary-janes to coordinate my vest and robe, and bid you goodbye with a promise to write. You asked me to stay safe and eat my green vegetables; to not overwork myself with prefect duties or get into too much trouble with my friends. I waved away your worries and boarded a scarlet train, heading off to the start of another_

That was all that was written. A few elegantly composed sentences, setting someone up for something unexpected. She had planned to mail someone and notify them of her return and pre-mortem state. The only question to ask was _who_? Draco had a suspicion; a logical, true to form piece of the puzzle, a perfect explanation for her whereabouts. He knew exactly the place to find her. He simply had no idea where this place stood built.

With renewed vigor and determination, Draco spun on his heel and strode through the doorway, heading again for the stairs. When he passed Janelle again she was no longer out of breath, but merely resting and enjoying her few moments of inactivity. As Draco made his way around her bulky form, she looked up with wide eyes and stood as she called out to him.

"Draco, wait," she said, attempting to catch his shoulder with her palm, but he moved unexpectedly and she missed the support of his frame, losing her balance and wobbling dangerously three steps from the ground. Draco, upon hearing her gasp in sheer terror, spun with expert timing and caught her before she could come to any harm. He righted her feet and held tight to her shoulders, staring with wide eyes her bleached face. Janelle could not do so much as move for a moment, paralyzed in shock and fear, and Draco held her steady as she regained steady breathing and calmed her frantic heart.

"Hey," Draco said softly, thoughts of Hermione pushed centimeters back to allow room for concern over Janelle's immediate condition. His eyes flickered downward to the impediment placed at the front of her waist. "Everybody all right?" She was trembling, putting much of her weight against him, and tentatively opened her eyes to stare up at him. "Nell?" She gave a terse nod, swallowing.

"I think so. Thank you." Her voice was soft, childlike and frightened.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, ignoring the single shake of the head he received in response. "It was my fault. I should have listened." To this, he received no reaction. Janelle seemed to be attempting to control herself and quell her trembling extremities. Draco sighed. "Come on; let's get you to bed; I'll send Neville up. Promise me you'll go to sleep and stay there the rest of the night?" Janelle allowed herself a heavy sigh, nodding and fixing a forced smile onto her face. Draco returned one more genuine for her benefit. He helped her down the remaining stairs to the second floor and the bedrooms closest to the foyer and dining area. Because of Janelle's extenuating circumstances, it was thought best by all that she sleep as close to the bottom floor as possible during her stay at the farmhouse.

Once she had crossed the tricky threshold and was safely standing within feet of her inviting bed, Draco allowed Janelle release of his firm grip. She smiled a thank you and he backed away, bidding her a friendly goodnight and renewing his promise to find Neville.

Hermione was locked inside his brain, itching and scratching at the back of his eyes, starved for attention. She had been emancipated from the world for half a decade; she knew not what had transpired during her absence and could not be fully trusted to make it on her own in the wild of England, be it small town Canterbury or the heart of golden London. She screamed and cried inside his head, her voice ringing in his ears as she wailed and called out to him, pleading for him to save her.

Draco, in a world of torment, mounted his broom to fly to the foyer more quickly and called in his most persistent voice "Longbottom!" The word slipped from his lips before he could consciously think it and passed his memory before he had time to ponder his use of the man's surname.

Neville, always jumpy and burdened with slight paranoia, skidded into the foyer within seconds of his summons, looking pale and panicky.

"For God's sakes, Draco, what is it?" he asked, pressing a palm to his chest as the rush left him. Draco quickly stepped closer to his comrade and forced himself to remain calm; agitating Neville Longbottom was not something one would do if at any length it could be avoided.

"Janelle's upstairs, waiting in your room. She had a bit of a fright; tripped on the stairs. They're both fine, but she'd like if you'd come up as soon as possible," Draco stated, remaining as calm and businesslike as possible. Neville blanched the instant he registered 'danger' in his mind's monologue and made no indication that he had heard a word of Draco's speech save 'Janelle', 'fright', and 'fine' as he spun and bounded up the staircase without so much as a word of thanks or explanation of intention.

Draco sought naught of Neville's gratitude or explanation and turned himself in the opposite direction, bursting through the front doors and inviting the rush of air, perfumed of the night and feeling fresh against his tired brow. He could waste no more time; Hermione's image was driving him crazy, pulling at his mind's chords like harp strings and lulling him to her will.

"Draco?" asked a new voice, laced with surprise, but Draco's face contorted as he heard it. He made to ignore her, but Teige Ackerly was not one to be easily overlooked. She stepped directly in front of his retreating form, placing the heels of her hands directly on his broom head and preventing his take off. Draco glared at her.

"_What_?" he spat, sharp grey eyes boring into her hard hazel orbs. Draco had never liked Teige. When they had attended Hogwarts he had made a point of avoiding her and after the attack, she became a prick in his side. In truth, until a few months before Hermione's rescue he had no real reason to despise her. It was an instinct; a gut-feeling. He _loathed_ her with ever fiber in his being.

For years he could not explain to even himself why he found her so appalling, but she had recently given him excuse. When Neville had approached her father to ask for Janelle's hand in marriage, she had washed her mouth of all opinion and let them proceed as natural, wedding as a happy couple though she approved not of their difference in age.

When Neville had approached her father _again_, just over a year ago, to express his thirst for parenthood, however, she had let her biased conscience impede. At that point, both Janelle and Neville had lived together at the farmhouse and Draco could remember countless nights lying in his bed and listening to the blonde bride sob into the ceramic of the bathroom tile, comforted to the best of his ability by Neville, but ultimately miserable in her indecision. She wanted nothing more than to get a head start and throw away her contraceptives; volunteering to become the bearer of the next generation of Longbottoms, but was conflicted in that she loved her sister dearly and greatly valued her opinion. Teige knew of her sister's torment, but did nothing save a shake of the head and a dirty look whenever the topic was mentioned.

For this, Draco despised her. She had let her own flesh and blood suffer at her own hand, forcing her to live in a life of emotional conflict; an unneeded addition to a long list of obstacles. Draco himself had done a lot of immoral things in his time and had made his share of bad choices, but if there was any lesson to be remembered of his childhood, it was that of family loyalty. For family, Draco believed rather to take fall than build burden.

There was no statement in the rulebook which depicted the unconditional love and unquestionable agreement with every decision a blood relative could make, but there was definitely a chapter on faithfulness and support which clearly stated that no one person should ever inflict pain upon another of their gene pool. It was for this reason that Draco could not avoid a stir of anger in synapse with thoughts of Teige Ackerly.

"You can't go," she stated bluntly, gaze unwavering and hands still holding tight to his broom. Draco bit back the rage; he had no time for Teige when Hermione's health was at stake.

"Clear off," he bit back harshly, trying to move past her, but she held firmly to her position.

"You _can't_ go, Draco," Teige repeated. "It's dark, you've no idea where she's gone; it's suicide. Not to mention you're tired and probably haven't eaten a proper meal all day. I don't want your plunge to death hanging over my head just because you had an impulse and I let you go. That girl is the least of our troubles right now. What about Harry? There's something wrong with him, Draco. Something that goes beyond just depression. He _threatened_ Janelle today. _Threatened _her. God knows what would have happened if Neville hadn't stopped him. Deal with _Harry_ first." Draco's eyes narrowed farther and he ripped the broom tip from her grasp.

"Don't you _ever_ make to lecture _me_," he warned and pointed to the sky. "_That girl_ has a name. She has a life, and a mind, and a _right_ to be rescued. She wouldn't admit it, but she's naïve. The world to her at this point is as unfamiliar and dangerous as Knockturn alley to a muggle; to Janelle. If Neville had a breakdown amidst all the crowd of farmhouse residents and you saw Nell wandering into that darkened passage, who would _you_ attend to first?"

"That's different," Teige stated, crossing her arms. "Janelle is my _sister_ and I _love _her. Neville is barely even family. He could rot for all I'm offering by way of assistance."

"Hermione is my _friend_ and I... I_ care_ about her," Draco mocked. "Harry has a houseful of others to assure he doesn't commit any act of sin, but Hermione seems not to have anyone trying to help her, does she? She's even got you impeding her redeemer and prolonging her pain. Would you rather _her_ death rest on your shoulders?" Teige struggled for words, but remained silent as they were lost on her, glaring heatedly at the blond before her. Draco made to move past her and she didn't stop him, sparing not a word of luck or blunder as he rose into the night sky at incredible speed.

-x-x-x-

Hermione, shivering and victim of painful tremors which racked her body and disoriented her flight, found herself without the strength to fly more than a few feet from the ground. Her progress was slow and she held tight to the broom handle, closing her eyes against tears of torture.

When she opened them again, Hermione found herself no longer in the air. She instead was lying on the pavement below a streetlight, her skin laced with strawberry burns and body aching from the cold. Fagan was perched on her wrist, pecking lightly at her hair to wake her, and Hermione smiled at him, lifting a heavy hand to run fingers along his feathers.

"Hey, baby," she said softly and Fagan cooed concernedly, nibbling lightly on her thumb. She laughed delicately and shifted her tired body, making the little orange owl flap his wings in excitement. With a groan, Hermione lifted herself into a sitting position, shivering against the cold, and looked tiredly around. "I don't know where we are, Faygie, but it's a long way from where we want to be," she told him and he hopped onto her shoulder, hooting soothingly.

With considerable effort, Hermione climbed onto her feet and held tight to Harry's broom, starting slowly down the boulevard in search of somewhere warm to sleep.

-x-x-x-

Draco flew at such a speed the world below seemed not but a blur. The air rushing past him and combing though his hair made him feel confident and important, sure he was doing the right thing. The feeling was incredible and addictive and Draco found himself flying much too far than anticipated. He forced himself to slow and come to a halt in an empty alleyway, walking into the sparsely inhabited city street with an air of determination.

"You there," he said sternly to the first man to pass him by. "Can you tell me where to find a phone booth?"

The man gave him an odd look and wordlessly pointed down the street to the large red closet on the corner. Draco spared no time to thank the man and started down the street, squeezing himself in front of an old woman who was approaching the booth, shutting the door quickly behind him and ignoring her knocks and curses at his youth.

"Let's see," he mumbled to himself, picking up the thick directory which was hanging below the phone. He opened it to the section labeled 'London' and flipped through the alphabet to the latter 'G's. "Granger, Granger, Granger... where are you?"

The little old woman was making an awful racket and, in his tired state especially, Draco was having a hard time concentrating on the tightly typed script on the thin pages open before him. He leaned against the door to keep it closed and narrowed his eyes at his tome.

"Ah, here," he said, smiling in triumph. "Michael and Sharon." Draco paused and his smile dropped slightly. "Or Ralph and Linda, or Gregory and Eileen, or Alfred and Walter... well, I doubt that's it." Draco placed a hand to his temple and tried desperately to remember the names of the two middle-aged muggles he had met only once, on a very somber autumn day. His eyes roamed over the list of Grangers, looking for anything that might spark a memory. "No, no..." he mumbled to himself, pleased that the old lady had finally taken leave, and sighed. Suddenly, Draco felt himself start. Clive and Lavinia. "Livy," he whispered in awe and quickly memorized the address indented below. "23 Westchester Murray, 23 Westchester Murray."

-x-

Draco had barely landed before his fist began pounding on the door.

"Open up!" he shouted angrily, frustrated by lack of response, and the light in an upstairs room flickered on. Draco continued knocking.

"Coming! Coming! For Christ's sake!" called an unpleased male voice from inside, followed by the more feminine reprimand for language of his wife.

The second the door opened, Draco felt a rush of relief. They looked much older and tired, but were without a doubt the parents of the lost and found, only to be lost again, Hermione Granger. Mr. Granger, who had answered his incessant knocking, looked at him strangely, as though he were trying to remember if he should be expecting company at nine in the evening.

"Can we help you?" asked Missus Granger, coming to stand beside her husband and lying a petite hand on his arm. Draco felt a shutter run through him; Hermione definitely had her mother's hands.

"Where is she?" he asked, softly but still with a demanding force, and Missus Granger found herself taking a step backward. Her husband instantly pushed her into his protection, shielding his consort from danger.

"Who?" he demanded, and Draco's eyes narrowed. He felt his jaw lock and tightened his grip on the broom in his hand as he pushed past the older couple and into the house, looking in all directions for any sign of life. "_Who_, boy?" Mr. Granger repeated, now growing somewhat angry at the intrusion. He pushed his wife further behind him.

"Who the hell do you think?" he shouted at them. "She's here, I know she's here. She has to be."

"Lad, I asked you a question; tell me who you're looking for and I'll try to be of aid, but your shouts are hardly helping anything and you are frightening my wife," Mr. Granger reminded sternly, but Draco ignored him.

"Hermione!" he called, voice echoing in the empty chambers. "Hermione, please! Where are you?" When there was no reply but silence, Draco turned back to the Grangers and was forced to bite back the demand making its way past his tongue.

Clive Granger's skin blended into the crisp cotton of his clean white sleepers and he stood perfectly still, as if afraid to breathe. Lavinia, his wife, was sobbing quietly into the back of his shoulder, holding great wads of fabric tightly in her lovely feminine hands.

Everything was silent for an extended moment; time seemed to stand still and Draco was stunned to silence by the sight before him, hearing nothing but his own breathing and the sound of his pulse rushing through his ears. After what felt like hours, Clive swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat and parted chapped lips in a sigh.

"Lad," he said softly, sympathetically. "I'm sorry to tell you this in such an informal manner, but our daughter passed away nearly six years ago. Hermione lost her life in the Wizarding World War; I regret you never knew." Draco stared at them in disbelief; he had been _so _sure.

"She hasn't been back? Not earlier this evening; hours ago?" he asked and Lavinia emitted a heart wrenching sob which made her husband flinch in sympathetic pain.

"Lad, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. It's an indecent hour and, as you can very well see, neither of us are in any state to entertain. If you'd like to come back for tea at another time, we would love for you to tell us your relationship with our daughter. Please, boy; goodnight," Clive instructed suggestively, holding the door open to its fullest extent. Draco shook his head, lodging nervous fingers into his pale locks. They didn't know; they really didn't know.

"Look, Mr. Granger..." he began awkwardly and Clive straightened in anticipation. "I wasn't supposed to be the one to tell you this; Harry, Harry meant to but he..." Draco sighed. "My name is Draco Malfoy; I went to school with Hermione. I was there the day of the attack and I've been helping the Hogwarts Alliance to usurp establishments. I..." he paused. "I've never been good with this sort of thing, so I think it's best to just tell you. We've found Hermione; she isn't dead."

Clive turned, if possible, a paler shade of white and Lavinia fell to the floor in a dead faint. Draco's eyebrows lifted at the sight in surprise and he felt somewhat guilty; perhaps he should have requested they sit down. In an instant, Clive was at the side of his wife, gently patting her face to bring her around. Draco, feeling awkward and out of place, took a step forward. Clive's shoulders tensed.

"Get out of my house," he demanded in a cold voice, speaking over his shoulder without bothering to turn around.

"But, sir; I need your help. Hermione, she..."

"I said leave, boy. Sick is what this is. Sick as hell," he cursed, before again speaking in low and hushed tones, words like "C'mon love" and "Please, Livy, wake up" to his unconscious wife. Draco, with nothing left to say and his welcome obviously outstayed, shrunk back and slouched in a depression, slipping through the door and closing it softly behind him. Clive continued to shake his wife. "Livy... Livy."

"Clive?" she finally said, her voice the lowest of whispers. Slowly, Lavinia's eyes fluttered open. "Oh, Clive, I had the most wonderful dream. A man... he came to us in the middle of the night. He told me my baby was still alive. Alive, Clive; did you hear? Alive." He frowned deeply and nodded.

"I heard you, love, but it was a dream; just a dream. No man came to us."

"I know," Lavinia said, sighing softly, and sat up to rest her head on his chest and Clive held her closely to him. He felt her smile against the skin of his forearm. "I don't think he was a man, Clive. I think he was an angel."

-

A/N: Unedited version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	12. Angelcakes

Erstwhile on TUB:

"Livy... Livy."

"Clive?" she finally said, her voice the lowest of whispers. Slowly, Lavinia's eyes fluttered open. "Oh, Clive, I had the most wonderful dream. A man... he came to us in the middle of the night. He told me my baby was still alive. Alive, Clive; did you hear? Alive." He frowned deeply and nodded.

"I heard you, love, but it was a dream; just a dream. No man came to us."

"I know," Lavinia said, sighing softly, and sat up to rest her head on his chest and Clive held her closely to him. He felt her smile against the skin of his forearm. "I don't think he was a man, Clive. I think he was an angel."

-

Chapter Twelve: Angelcakes

Draco, in a devastated state, walked slowly across the street to the side opposite the Granger residence. He had been undoubtedly sure that Hermione would be there, and still she wasn't. Her parents' reaction was plenty proof.

As a result of finding neither hide nor hair of Hermione, Draco was left without plan and ambitionless to perform any complicated maneuvers. He sighed and climbed again onto his wooden shaft. _I suppose there's nothing to do now but search the muggle way. God, Hermione; what were you thinking?_

In two hours, after Draco had made on the upward of twenty laps around London, he landed again on the street outside the little house. All was quiet and dark again and he assumed the Grangers had returned to their berth, hoping to forget his intrusion. He still felt something inside which assured him he was in the right place, on the right track in finding Hermione, and decided against leaving for search again until daylight. If she came, he would see her, if she didn't, an aerial search would be more profitable if able to see more than three feet in front of one's face.

Rubbing at an eye, sluggish and tired, Draco directed his broom to a thick branch in an oak tree opposite the Granger abode and landed gracefully upon it, ignoring his protesting stomach and settling in for a night-long vigilance. His late night, early morning, and eventful day impacted him heavily, assisted by his empty stomach, to lull him and, hours before sunrise, Draco Malfoy drifted to sleep.

-x-x-x-

"There has to be _somewhere_, Faygie. A shelter, a retreat... hell, a _garbage can_ full of _fire_. Somewhere," Hermione told the little bird who was now perched comfortably on her shoulder, curled against her neck as he searched the darkness for sign of warm asylum.

Hermione walked slowly down a dusty street, eyes on her shoes as if they needed her vigilance to be moved forward. Her progress was slow, but persistent and she looked up at even intervals to view the streets and look for any sign of life. The rural part of London in which she presently paced was fast asleep with no thought to her well being. The quiet was eerie, and the atmosphere uninviting.

"I don't like this place, love," she whispered, shuddering as she held her cloak tightly around her, Harry's broom acting as means of security in her tight embrace. "I don't like it at all."

Fagan hooted his agreement and took flight from her shoulder, flying into the air and making slow circles around her. Hermione watched him intently, hoping he did not wish to leave her company.

"What, baby?" she asked rhetorically, though knowing owls to be the smartest of non-human species. Perhaps, even, smarter than their dominators. Fagan gave a low hoot; a dull sound which rattled Hermione's bones and made her wish herself back in the safe warmth of the farmhouse. Of Hogwarts. Of anywhere, with anyone. "Fagan! Stop it, right now!" Hermione could feel the atmosphere change; the air seemed warmer, and the streets safer. In succession, a few tiny lights flickered on in homes near her post, and Hermione gasped, backing up against a streetlight. "Fagan, please!" she hissed. "You're waking them!" Reprimanded though not knowing of the harm he had caused, Fagan returned to his roost on her shoulder and hid himself with her hair, cooing softly against her neck as would a small cat.

"Ay! What's all the fuss about?" called someone into the night, sounding not pleased to have been awoken, and Hermione gasped, turning her face to the new voice. A plump old man with a nightcap appeared at an open window near her, looking wary and suspicious. "Miss? Isn't it a bit late for a stroll? And what with a good flying broom as well?" He paused. "What was that racket? You're going to wake the whole neighborhood."

"I'm sorry sir," she called up to him, holding a hand over Fagan and hoping the man would not notice. "It wasn't me, I swear it." He gave her a calculating glance, and Hermione curbed his suspicion by continuing her explanation. "Sir, if you please, I'm just running away and am, quite frankly, a bit lost. Would you know of a place in which I could stay, just for the night?"

"Run away?" the man asked, sounding somewhat surprised. "From home, lass?" Hermione hesitated only a moment before shaking her head.

"From the Mauriz establishment, sir," she explained, dropping her gaze to the ground, and she heard him gasp.

"Are you jesting, Miss? The _Mauriz_ establishment? How..."

"Please, sir. I would just like somewhere warm to sleep."

"I'm sorry, lass. There isn't much of that sort here in Westchester. But, blimey, Mauriz? If you don't mind a couch, I can lay you up here, Miss," he offered, quite graciously, but Hermione was having a spell of nostalgia.

"Did you say Westchester, sir?" she asked, looking for validation, and the man gave a convicted nod.

"Ay; that's where you be, Miss. Quaint place, isn't it?" he asked, smiling widely, and Hermione nodded in a slow rhythm, staring wide eyed at the pavement.

"It is," she agreed. "I grew up here." She paused for an everlasting moment, reliving the days before her life had become so unrecognizable, then Hermione looked up sharply.

"Sir, could you point me to Murray?" she pleaded and the man lifted a snowy eyebrow.

"Murray?" he asked, surprised. "That be the muggle part, Miss." Hermione nodded.

"Yes. I've family there."

"You're a lucky one, lass. It's just three blocks that way," he said, pointing. "Make a turn at the fountain."

"The mermaid. I remember. Thank you sir, you've been a saint!" she called to him, blowing a kiss from the palm of her hand, and started on a slow trot which felt like a full-speed run. The man chuckled after her, waving madly.

"It might do you well to ride that fine broom of yours!" he called as she hurried off, and Hermione took his advice, mounting her broom and riding with renewed vigor for the noted three blocks and landing softly at the edge of the infamous mermaid fountain on the corner. She took a moment to bask in nostalgia, smiling up at the marble fish-maiden spouting stale water from her lips. After a moment or so, Fagan grew impatient and detangled himself from Hermione's auburn locks, shooting up into the sky to stretch his wings before coming back to rest on the mermaid's brow. Hermione laughed at him giddily, drunk on adrenaline.

"Thank you, Faygie. I don't know how I could have missed it. I lived here for _years_," she said, and Fagan hooted his replay, shifting his stature on his perch. "Come, love. I'm sleepy." Obediently, the little orange bird flew down to rest on Hermione's exposed wrist, allowing her to carry him into the unfamiliar territory of her childhood neighborhood.

Hermione walked slowly down the street, heart swelling at each building or marking she recognized. It was not ten minutes before she stopped all at once, looking up at a white washed country home with green shutters and modest shrubbery. A tooth-shaped mailbox stood out of place at the corner made by the sidewalk and path to the front door, and Hermione ran a hand over the embossed letters which spelled the word "Granger" in healthy-gum reds and mint-fluorine greens.

Breath ragged and footsteps heavy, she made the journey to the door so slowly it seemed surreal and placed her hand on the brass doorknob. With one last deep breath, she attempted to turn it, but the handle held fast.

"Damn," she whispered, letting it go in frustration. Fagan gave a quiet hoot of apology, and Hermione sighed, looking to her feet. Below the now tarnished black pumps which encased her feet, a tattered brown mat greeted each to step upon it with a friendly and calligraphic "Welcome". "Key," Hermione mumbled, blinking against the memory. "Under the mat, I remember." She stooped downward, lifting the little piece of sodden burlap, and smiled softly at the dull key that was nestled safely below it. "Thank God."

Hermione entered her home quickly and quietly, closing the door behind her with virtually no displacement of vibration. She exhaled then, as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest.

"We're home, Faygie. I'm glad you came with me," she whispered to him, starting toward a wooden staircase. He nuzzled against her neck, but did not chance any sort of hoot in reply. "Got to be careful," Hermione said softly as she approached the stairs. "My father hates to be woken in the middle of the night." Despite her tired state, she managed to step foot on the second floor with only the smallest of creaks in the flooring. Just as carefully, Hermione tiptoed down the carpeted hallway to her old room, which was only distanced from the landing by the bathroom. She immediately attempted to open the door, but found that it too had been locked. "Odd," she whispered only to Fagan, who made no reply. With a slight shrug of her shoulder, Hermione unclasped her broken cloak, using the safety pin -which had functioned as a holder- to pick the lock. She heard it click within moments and pushed quickly inside, envisioning the warm and comfortable bed from her youth, before closing the door behind her. She flicked on the light beside the doorframe and gave a slight gasp at the site.

The room was just as she had left it, complete with her head's imprint in the pillow and an open copy of _Professional Potions _on her duvet. The difference, however, was that everything was now layered with a few centimeters of dust and cobwebs were draped over everything. For precaution, Hermione cast a silencing charm on her room, then one to remove the dust and leave the furniture spotless. With a soft smile, she situated Fagan on a dress hook near the window and crawled below her freshly scented cotton sheets, smiling against the pillow and mumbling a final spell to turn off the light before placing her wand on the bedside table and drifting into a soporific and peaceful sleep.

-x-x-x-

Draco woke moments after dawn, to a throbbing head. A few branches down, a little red woodpecker was persistently looking for some sort of microbic meal, and the effect was a vibration strong enough to wake a hibernating bear. Mounting his broom to fly within the branches and not feel the aftershocks of his little friend's scourge, Draco turned his attention to the Granger domicile. It looked just as it had when he'd drifted, with the trivial exception of better lighting from the sun. With a sigh, he decided against investigating this early and flew directly upward to be obscured by the clouds as he made a few more fruitless rounds around London.

At seven thirty, Draco parked himself again in the Granger tree, resting his chin on an open palm as he waited for any sign of movement or life. At a quarter of eight, Clive descended the step at the front and walked down the path to retrieve the morning paper, which had been left at some point while Draco was scouring the city for his Gryffindor brunette. With a hefty sigh, he waited until Clive had again disappeared into his home before jumping to the bottom of the tree and hiding his broom behind it, then crossing the empty street. Draco took a breath as he knocked on the front door, preparing himself for a curse though he knew it to be impossible.

Clive answered the door with a smile, but it grew into an angry frown as he recognized his company.

"_You_," he spat, and Draco nodded sadly. "I thought I told you to stay off my property." The younger boy gave a slight smirk.

"Actually, you told me to come back for tea."

"You think you're funny, do you? Well, I'm telling you now, boy. _Clear off_ and _stay off_."

"I'm sorry sir, but I just can't do that. I _know_ she's coming back here. I just _know_ it. I plan to be back every day, twice if need be, until I find her here," Draco stated determinedly and Clive glared.

"Tell you what," he said, though not sounding in the mood to be negotiable. "We'll call _you_." He made to close the door then, but a feminine voice impeded him.

"Clive? Who is it?" asked Livy, coming up behind him while untying the apron she wore over her nightdress and robe.

"No one, Livy. He was just leaving," Clive answered, giving Draco one last, solid glare before making again to close the door.

"You!" Livy screeched as she turned into the foyer, but refreshingly without the anger her husband had. "Clive, it's him! The angel-boy to bring word of my baby!"

"Livy," He warned. "We've talked about this. That didn't happen."

"It did, Clive! The boy is here, what more proof do you need?"

"Livy, you will go back into the kitchen and forget about this incident entirely. Go."

"No, Clive," she said, stepping up to her husband and narrowing her almond shaped eyes at him. "I won't. I've waited for this since that night, before Mina's funeral." At this thought, she turned to Draco, who was still standing with a look of confusion on his dirty face. "You came to me in a dream, angel boy. More than half a decade ago. I've believed in you, but Clive thought me crazy. Come, you'll have some pancakes. Pay no mind to my husband, he can rot in front of the tele for all I care," Livy said, taking Draco by the arm and directing him into her home and through a doorway to the kitchen. "Angels _do_ eat, don't they?" Draco grinned, casting a glace over his shoulder to Clive Granger, who fumed and did as he was told, falling into a worn spot on the sofa.

"I'm afraid I'm not an angel, Missus Granger," Draco admitted, allowing her to pamper his sycophantic stomach. "Just a friend." Livy frowned, pausing slightly as she dished him a more than modest portion of buttermilk pancakes and placed a syrup ladle next to his plate.

"Oh," she said softly. "Then you shouldn't have a problem eating, should you?" She smiled again, but it was strained and did not reach her eyes. Draco felt suddenly guilty.

"I do have news of Hermione, though," he assured, hospitably drizzling thick maple sap over his warm hotcakes. Livy sat suddenly in front of him, stance rigid and demanding.

"Tell me everything."

Draco, who was half way through a generous bite of pancake, swallowed hard.

"Well," he said, placing his fork neatly beside his plate and using as much self control as he had to ignore the delicious food and nagging desire to ignore all etiquette and manners and eat _while_ explaining. "Generally, what happened was that Hermione and all the other students at our school were attacked by an evil wizard named Mauriz. He banished all but a select few -Hermione included- and took over the castle. It pretty much became, well, a..." He faltered, hesitant to say such a thing to a mother. Livy was staring idly at her placemat, putting all attention to Draco's explanation.

"A _brothel_," she filled in, spitting the word, and Draco sighed, slouching in his chair.

"Yes. We assumed that, because Harry was very protective of Hermione, Mauriz had killed her immediately to spite him. It was a big assumption, but Harry was convinced, and we couldn't argue. She's been alive all this time, living at Hogwarts under Mauriz' command. I went in as a spy only a few days ago and found her there," he said, hoping to lift her spirits at least slightly, but Livy was now dabbing her eyes with a napkin. "I'm sorry I've upset you, Missus Granger. Perhaps I should go?"

"No, no, dear child. Please, continue. I'm all right," she insisted and he nodded reluctantly.

"We didn't do anything right away, I kept her as _my_ wife to make sure she was safe, and we were working hard on a tactic to take down the establishment. Then, unfortunately, Harry decided it would be a good idea to simply break in and take her out of there. Truth of the matter is that Harry is a high profile. He'd have been recognized and impeded, and Hermione probably _would_ have been killed; not to mention both Harry and myself. I snuck her out, and she was safe at the farmhouse, but..."

"But?" Livy prompted, entranced with the explanation, and Draco sighed again.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news. Hermione and Harry had a... a fight, you could say, and she ran off. As of right now, she's somewhere very much alone and without the proper instincts to survive. Personally, I'm very worried about her. I had reason to believe that she'd come here... home, to you. I still think she may."

"She's _gone_?" Livy asked, breaking into a sob. "_Again_?" Draco nodded.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I never thought she'd do this... if I had had _any_ suspicion, I would have stopped her, I swear to you. I take full responsibility for what has happened," he said by some way of condolence, and Livy cried silently into her napkin, great sobs wracking her shoulders. "I'll leave you now, ma'am. I'm truly sorry."

"No," Livy said suddenly, straightening in one motion. "Stay, finish your breakfast. I believe you, Angel. I do." She said, covering his hand with her own. Draco suppressed another shudder. "I'll just go get you some tea."

-x-

Hermione woke to the unpleasant sound of her parents' shouting. Curious as to their fight and hoping her appearance might curb their anger, she crept out of bed and allowed Fagan exit through the window, then padded down the hallway to peer around the landing and view the floor below. She gasped as she saw Draco at the door, standing quietly while her mother argued determinedly with her father, and quickly jumped back, hoping they had not seen her. As the attention of both men was focused primarily on her mother, Hermione was able to sigh in relief and maintain her anonymity.

In effect of their raised voices, the conversation carried up the staircase and to the perked ears of the girl hidden above. She listened hard, trying to make out every word, and almost audibly groaned when Livy showed Draco to the kitchen.

As she had often done as a girl, Hermione hurried to the center of the hall, where a metal heating duct connected to the kitchen and conversation could easily be heard. Sprawled on the carpet with her ear pressed to the grate, it was easy to get lost in Draco's explanations. She almost found herself crying at her own expense, as if reading a novel and mentally screaming for a character to avoid danger, or realize their mistakes. Her heart wrenched for Draco, who sounded absolutely sickened with worry. He hadn't been in the best of shapes when she had left him, and had no doubt worsened since.

-x-

"My, you're certainly hungry, aren't you Angel?" Livy asked, laughing shallowly as she returned with her promised pot of tea. Draco had eaten as quickly as possible while she had been gone, hoping to end the awkward and uncomfortable conversation speedily and return to his search for Hermione. He smiled crookedly at her and slowed his rapid chewing. "You say you were Mina's friend? Well... _are_ her friend?" Draco swallowed, nodding softly.

"Now, yes, but we never were in school. Had a few classes together, I remember. In fact, we were in class together when we were attacked. Paired as partners if I recall correctly. Never friendly, though, and that was mostly my fault."

"Why don't you tell me about yourself?" Livy prodded, placing her chin on the top of her hand and sipping at her freshly sugared tea.

"Well," Draco began, putting his fork down again, though his pancakes were only half finished. "I had a less than perfect childhood. Not a lot of love at home; mostly indifference. I learned to be self-sufficient, and its long-term result was a big head and attitude to match. That didn't change much when I went to Hogwarts. It was really only after the war that I saw how insane it was, to think like that. Life wasn't so easy anymore."

"I remember," Livy said, nodding. "Harry was miserable."

"I was one of those in his group of veterans. Still, there was very little amiability between us. It took a very long time to warm up."

"How _is_ Harry?" she asked and Draco faltered.

"Harry... well, Harry's not good, to tell you the absolute truth," he said, frowning, and Livy joined him. When Draco hesitated from continuing, she prodded him.

"Angel?" He sighed.

"He's always been a bit down about Hermione... especially directly following her mention. He blamed himself for her death and was burdened with the grief of never being able to properly say goodbye, or tell her how much she meant to him. When he found out about her recovery, he was delirious with thrill and went _absolutely mad_ trying to get her to safety. Now that she's gone again, he's hit an utter low," Draco explained, rubbing at his eyes. "Truth is, I'm worried about him as well."

"Oh, poor dear," Livy said, frowning and placing a hand on his arm. "I can't imagine it's ever an easy life for an angel." Draco looked up with a little smile, and didn't bother to correct her. Livy shared his expression for a moment, then patted his arm and stood again from her seat, bringing her half finished tea to the kitchen sink and starting again to make pancakes. "You just eat up now, Angel, and there's plenty more where that came from, don't you worry." Draco shook his head through another bite and swallowed.

"Really, Missus Granger, you've been more than generous. I should be on my way; I've to continue searching the surrounding area. I've promised to many, myself included, that I will find her, safe and well, and I plan to do just that."

"That won't be necessary," said a timid voice from the doorway and the occupants of the room turned to the speaker.

Draco stood so quickly that his chair scraped loudly against the tile floor and Livy emitted a high pitched scream before falling in a dead faint, directly into the spilt bowl of batter which preluded her. Clive, having heard his wife's scream and thinking immediately that Draco had harmed her in some way, rushed up behind the scene. A brown haired girl, standing teary-eyed and rumpled from sleep in the doorway, turned around to face him and, again, Clive's complexion matched his nightshirt.

"_Mina._"

-

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	13. Blower's Daughter

Erstwhile on TUB:

I've promised to many, myself included, that I will find her, safe and well, and I plan to do just that."

"That won't be necessary," said a timid voice from the doorway and the occupants of the room turned to the speaker.

Draco stood so quickly that his chair scraped loudly against the tile floor and Livy emitted a high pitched scream before falling in a dead faint, directly into the spilt bowl of batter which preluded her. Clive, having heard his wife's scream and thinking immediately that Draco had harmed her in some way, rushed up behind the scene. A brown haired girl, standing teary-eyed and rumpled from sleep in the doorway, turned around to face him and, again, Clive's complexion matched his nightshirt.

"_Mina._"

-

Chapter Thirteen: The Blower's Daughter

To Draco, the world seemed to stand still for a moment. There she was, as dirty and fragile-looking as ever, standing framed in the doorway and staring at her feet. The Grangers, both to his right, stood stock still and seemed not to be breathing. Clive stood unblinkingly in the center of the room, staring at his daughter as if he'd seen a ghost, while Livy slept soundly on the kitchen tile. The only movement for an excruciating minute was the slow manila train of pancake batter that made its way across the floor, stemming from the blood-like pool which acted as a halo around the unconscious woman's head.

The first sound to pierce the heavy silence was a heart-wrenching sob from Hermione as tears began to spill from her eyes. Draco's heart went out to her, and he turned his gaze to her father, expecting him to step forward and claim his daughter. Clive stood unblinkingly, rooted to his spot, and stared as if seeing a mythical creature he thought not to be in exist. Tears were leaking persistently from Hermione's lids, seeping through the fingers she held pressed over her inflamed cheeks as she trembled. Draco, unable to stand by with nothing and watch her writhe in pain, took three great strides across the ceramic flooring and clasped her frail body in his arms. Hermione made no move to absorb his comfort and allowed herself to silently wet the skin of her hands. Draco whispered to her, trying in vain to calm her trembling shoulders, but his efforts went unnoticed.

"_You_," said another voice and Draco lifted his eyes to view Clive Granger, who now looked livid, amber eyes ablaze with anger. "_You_ did this, you bastard! How _dare_ you come into _my_ home, disillusion _my_ wife, and bring with you some ratty _tramp_ to pose as _my_ daughter!" he accused, taking one step closer to the couple, and Draco took a complimentary step backward, pulling Hermione with him. She moved like a doll, void of free will.

"_Sir,_ I _beg_ of you..." Draco began, attempting to persuade his patron to reconsider judgment.

"Get out of my house," Clive demanded, voice low and dangerous. "Get _OUT!_" At the shout, Draco jumped in alarm, though Hermione remained still and silent, fingers still pressed over her eyelids. From her place on the floor, Livy stirred, and her eyes fluttered open.

"Hermione..." she whispered, as if in a trance, and Clive immediately rushed to her side. He assisted her in sitting up, and held her face to his night shirt, turning to glare at the couple in the doorway.

"_Out,_" he repeated, but his voice was no longer furious. It was his sudden and unexpected composure that worried Draco, and he held Hermione tighter. Livy, confused as to whom her husband was addressing, turned her face to view the intertwined young people.

"_Mina_," she said in wonder and pushed away from her husband.

"Livy, no!" he called after her, but the batter covering her body made it easy for Livy to slip from his grasp and scramble to her feet. She immediately found herself at her daughter's side, holding Hermione to her and smoothing her hair with batter-crusted fingers.

"My Mina, my sweet baby..." she cooed softly, rocking Hermione back and forth as she buried her face into her mother's shoulder. Draco had let go of his captive the moment she was entangled in maternal arms, and stepped back to watch the scene, while keeping a wary eye directed at Clive. He made no rush to stand, doing so carefully and ignoring the cakey substance which covered his pajamas. He approached his wife, who was sobbing into the sticky locks of the unknown girl, and wrenched her away. "Clive! What are you doing? Mina, come to Mummy." Hermione reached out, but her father stepped in front of Livy, holding a hand toward his daughter to stop her.

"You stay away from her, girl," he said, eyes flashing. "You stay away from us, both of you. Get out of my sight. I _never_ want to see you here again. You can't even _imagine_ the damage you've inflicted on my poor wife within the last twelve hours. You're _sick_. I can't stand the _sight _of you!" Now more than distrustful of Clive, Draco approached Hermione, taking her by the arms and drawing her slowly away from the scene. Livy screamed.

"No! Mina, no! Come back! Clive, let me go; that's my baby!" she demanded, struggling against his strong grip. Hermione looked between her sobbing mother and furious father, studying their faces as tears blurred her vision. When Draco had directed her through the doorway and into the living room beyond, she dropped her head and allowed a tremor to pass through her body. He stopped then, cagey of the delicate situation.

"Hermione?" he said, as softly as to barely be heard over Livy's screams and sobs. Hermione turned toward him and buried her face in his chest.

"Go," she whispered. Draco frowned, wrapping his arms protectively around her, and disapparated from the living room after saying a few Latin words to direct his broom to follow. Hermione remained completely still and silent, for a long time even after they had successfully made it to their destination. Feeling sympathy for her and deeming it his manly duty, Draco held her until she made move to pull away. "Where are we?" she asked, as if disappointed in a surprise vacation.

"My flat," he told her, forcing half a smile. "I didn't think you'd enjoy returning to the Farmhouse. No doubt you'd receive a proper bit of attention." Hermione nodded slowly and disentangled her arms from their latch around his torso. She crossed them over her chest and allowed her knees buckle and send her onto the less than cloud-like couch which occupied the living space in which Draco had directed them. He tentatively seated himself beside her. "Anything I can do?"

"Kill me," she said seriously and a shudder enveloped her small body. "Or wake me from this nightmare." With nothing he could deem appropriate to say, Draco stayed silent. Hermione sighed. "I hate it here." He gave her a flicker of a grin.

"You've been here five minutes. Give the place a chance," he joked, but she pretended as if she hadn't heard him.

"I don't belong anywhere," she said, beginning unconsciously to rock back and forth. "My parent's prefer me dead, Harry's spent six years in a lustful agony and, from what I saw, is practically comatose at my rejection of his request to defile me. Ron wouldn't understand my feelings if I physically ripped his heart out and made him feel the same way. And the others... they're _the others_. I can't stand to be in the same room with any of them. You care more about Harry than you do me. I've nothing. I'm no one."

"Now wait," Draco said in his own defense, sounding frankly surprised. "That isn't fair."

"You're right," she said acidly, turning her face away from him. "It isn't. That doesn't make it untrue."

"I came all this way looking for you, didn't I? You have no _idea_ what I did for you."

"You went looking because _he_ wanted you to," Hermione said, glaring at the carpet. Draco sighed in frustration, running hands through his hair.

"I came _despite_ what they wanted. Harry was in no fit state to demand anything of anyone," he said and she remained silent, shivering slightly as if uncomfortable in her own skin. "Some thanks I get."

"Thank you," she said, in a way that sounded almost akin to an apology. Draco's annoyance waned quickly at her solemn and unhesitant response, and he sighed.

"Tell me what you want, Hermione. I'll try my best to help you. I'm sorry everything's not perfect for you, but as overrated as it is, that _is_ life." Hermione was silent for a long time, breathing evenly and staring at the carpet. Her lips stuck to one another as she parted them, dried from salty tears.

"I just want to be happy."

-x-

Draco stopped their conversation when it was punctuated by a growl from Hermione's stomach. He filled her full of wholesome food and sent her to bed to recuperate. Hermione resisted at first, claiming that she didn't need sleep, but her swollen eyes did not hesitate to fall shut the moment her head rested upon the pillow.

She slept long into the day, and somewhat into the night. Draco had wondered, then, if there might have been something physically ailing her. Hermione hadn't complained to eating nearly everything her stomach could hold, which Draco also knew was unlike her, and now was in a deep and fitful sleep, seemingly un-plagued by dreams. He had left her to her own, as not to disturb her privacy, and periodically peered through the crack in the door to make sure she was still safe and warm beneath his bedcovers.

Draco considered owling or flooing a letter to Harry, explaining that he had found Hermione and that she was in perfect health, if not a little shaken, but decided forcefully against it. He couldn't risk an unexpected appearance. Hermione was in a fragile state, and Draco feared that seeing Harry before she was completely willing to do so might result in some sort of breakdown or spontaneous and dangerous act.

Instead he waited, entertaining himself with various books and busywork tasks. After the ice box had been purged of all outdated edibles, the bathroom scented lemony fresh and shined spotless, and the four-year-old deadbolt for the front door was finally installed, Draco relaxed on the couch with a very familiar book. He had discovered it in his cloak pocket while retrieving his wand, and remembered placing it safely in his largest pocket before evacuating Hermione from her sexual hell. Strange, he noted in retrospect, that even with the anxiety of Harry's upcoming arrival hanging over his head, he had remembered to take with him the one thing (other than Hermione) that held any real value for him.

With an empty schedule and nothing to do but wait as she slept, Draco reclined on his sofa and found his marked page in the old and dusty tome, happily falling into tales of Heroic Harold and his Flaming Fields of Mesmeric Mandisa.

Hermione exited his room at about six in the evening, looking very much refreshed and contented. Draco, absorbed in his book, did not notice her until she rested her fingertips on the crown of his head, smiling softly and saying, "Hey."

"Hey. Sleep all right?" he asked, marking his book without inconveniencing her the wait of allowing him to finish a page or paragraph. Hermione nodded slowly, heaving a heavy and somewhat contented sigh. "So," he said, pausing. "What now?" She gave a crooked smile, as if accepting to the fact but not at all enjoying it.

"I have to go home."

"Home?" Draco said, surprised. "But Hermione, your father..." She shook her head quickly.

"No. Home to Harry. To my friends. Where I'm supposed to be."

-x-x-x-

Hermione approached Harry's bedroom door tentatively, trying futilely to quell her shaking fingers and biting a raw spot on her bottom lip. When she had gained the courage and felt able to continue, she stepped up to the foreboding brown slab and rapped her knuckles against it softly, out of courtesy. Harry made no sound from within and Hermione dropped her fist to the doorknob, turning it slowly and granting herself entry to the heavily silent room.

Harry was tucked into his four poster bed, which had been jammed into the corner farthest from the door. He faced the wall, blankets obscuring all but a mop of black hair on the pillow. Hermione wondered fleetingly if he were asleep and thought briefly of returning at a later time, but she dismissed the idea, believing now to be as good a time as any, and approached him quickly for fear of losing her nerve.

"Harry?" she asked softly, slowing as she approached his bed. He didn't stir. "Harry," she tried again, volume lifting only slightly. Feeling a wave of tears rise into her throat, Hermione took the necessary steps forward and crawled under the covers beside him, curling into a ball and pressing her body against his back. "I'm so sorry, Harry. God, what have I done to you?"

"Hermione?" she heard softly and the body beside her shifted position. "'sat you?" She nodded against his back, which was clothed only in a thin cotton shirt.

"It's me, Harry. I'm right here," she said, placing a hand on his side, and Harry covered it with his own palm. He took a deep breath, groggy from sleep.

"I had the most horrible dream," he mumbled sleepily, interlacing his fingers with hers and rubbing the side of her hand with his thumb.

"You did?" she asked, sounding falsely surprised and concerned. "Tell me about it."

"You were dead..." he said, an audible frown in his voice. "Or at least, I thought you were. Then you came back to me... but you ran away again. I was so sad," he sounded somewhat surprised. "I thought I'd never see you again. It hurt." Hermione bit her lip, squeezing his fingers below her own. Harry sighed somewhat contentedly. "I'm glad it was just a dream." Hermione felt a complete release of tension and kissed his back frantically through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"That's right, Harry," she said softly in attempt to soothe him. "Just a dream." Harry sighed again, then released her hand and shifted to roll over. Hermione looked up, connecting with his gaze, and was somewhat surprised to see that no trace of pain could be seen in his bright green eyes; he seemed as happy and carefree as she had ever seen him, perhaps more so.

"Where were you?" he asked curiously, smiling at her as he snaked an arm around her waist to draw her closer to him. Hermione frowned.

"... Where was I?"

"Just now," he clarified. "Before you came back to bed."

"Oh," Hermione paused, slightly nervous and left with nothing to say. "I... I was in the bathroom. That's all." Harry offered her half a smile and gave a little hum of contentment before pitching forward to kiss her softly. Hermione, overrun with feelings of guilt and pain of loss, returned his kiss with a fiery urgency that startled Harry. He returned her osculation with rivaling passion, but looked surprised as they parted.

"Hermione?" he asked hesitantly, and she shook her head.

"It doesn't matter, Harry. Nothing matters," she said, and kissed him again. "I know you can make me happy; I _know_ you can."

-x-

Hermione, full of energy from her previous sleep and unable to rest despite her strenuous activity, disentangled herself from Harry's loving grip with intent of tending to her rumbling stomach. She stood from his berth and dressed quickly, leaving him with a kiss planted on his forehead.

As Hermione entered the kitchen, tiptoeing in the late night darkness, she was startled to find it already occupied. She sighed, placing a hand to her chest.

"Janelle, you surprised me," she admitted, shuffling across the floor and joining her nocturnal friend at the kitchen table.

"Likewise," Janelle said, glaring at her cup of tea. Hermione, who had helped herself to a tea biscuit, stopped mid-chew in confusion. Aware of her befuddlement, Janelle lifted her cold eyes to the girl across the table. "_Why_, Hermione? Why would you do this?" Hermione slowly placed her cookie on the table.

"Do... do what?" she asked, sounding more than guilty, and Janelle gave a cold chuckle.

"You think I don't know? God, Hermione. When you came here, I felt sorry for you. I knew you were confused and broken... and I pretended to understand how you must have felt in such a situation. I pitied you. Now, I'm revoking that. You're no more than what they made you there; a _whore_." Hermione gaped, mouth open.

"How _dare_ you..."

"I'm not wrong, Hermione. I'm not. You don't care about anything but yourself. You didn't care about Harry; you didn't care that _he'd_ been hurting too. That _you_ were hurting him."

"That isn't fair!" Hermione hissed. "After all I'd been through, and what he did..."

"He was _desperate_, Hermione. He just wanted to please you, to show you what you were in his eyes."

"A _sex slave_?" Hermione demanded. "I think I have a right to be selfish about my own body!" Janelle dropped her eyes to her tea cup, shaking her head softly.

"You were his first and only love, Hermione. You still are. He wanted to worship you, to show you just how happy he could make you feel. He wanted to make up for everything that had happened because of him. It was never about sex. That was the only thing he could think of to do."

"How do you know? How do you claim to have _any idea_ of what happened between us?" Hermione asked and Janelle smirked a little.

"Teige came in to get Neville; she wanted him to carry Harry into his bedroom. Why she didn't use magic, I can only guess. Nevy didn't want to leave me and I went with him, though he protested. I had a bit of a scare just after you left, you see, and he was worried about me.

"I went with him, to get Harry. He woke up pretty soon after that, and told us everything. Though, he thought it was all some dream, some nightmare. Then he said he was tired, and to send you upstairs whenever we saw you next. I'm glad you came back," Janelle admitted. "I don't know how he would have reacted if you hadn't been with him when he woke up."

"So I was scared," Hermione admitted. "So I didn't understand, and I ran. That doesn't make me a _whore_."

"No," Janelle admitted, shaking her head. "What you've been doing for the last few hours- that makes you a whore."

"I don't _understand_ you!" Hermione shouted in a hush, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "First you condemn me for _not_ sleeping with Harry... then you call me a whore because I do! What do you want from me?"

"Don't you even _care_ what you're doing to Draco?" Janelle demanded and Hermione felt her heart sink.

"D-Draco?" she asked. "What about Draco?"

"He's in _love_ with you, Hermione," Janelle answered, glaring softly. "Or lust, or _something_. Your complete disregard for his feelings is tearing him apart. I don't know what happened between you at the establishment, but he came back a changed man. He understands what's happening, but that doesn't stop it from hurting. He kept you safe there, he smuggled you out, he _cared _for you... and what's more, he continued on the outside. He tried to patch things between you and Harry and he _went after you_ when you went out of your mind and ran off! He was beside himself with worry, then. He knew you couldn't take care of yourself. Not two days from captivity. He's done all this, and you've lead him on to believe you cared for him as well. That you wanted to be with him. I saw you in the fireplace the day you arrived... I know everything. You've done all this and then you went to sleep with Harry. Draco's devastated, now. He's been locked in his room since half past five." Hermione, honestly considering the words of her friend, bit her lip.

"How does he know what I've done with Harry?" she asked feebly in one last, meager attempt at defending herself. Janelle frowned and shook her head.

"Everyone knows. You might want to try a silencing charm next time," she said and Hermione blushed to the tips of her ears.

"You're right," she admitted, whispering. "I'm a horrible, horrible person. I just wanted to do the right thing. To make things better. I'm Hermione... I'm _supposed_ to be with Harry. I've been destined to be with him since we were teenagers. So, tonight I sacrificed myself. I gave him everything, like I'm _supposed_ to. I just want it to end. I want to be happy again. I know... I _know_ I was happy once. With Harry."

"It's too late for a quick-fix, Hermione. You have to decide. You've either to sacrifice Harry, or deeply wound Draco. What's worse, Draco knows what you're doing. He knows you're doing what you're told, and he feels guilty for feeling betrayed by you. He'll tear himself apart. _You_ have to decide, Hermione. No one can make the decision for you; decide who you want, and who you're willing to live without. To destroy. I know it's not an easy decision, but it has to be made. Do what _you_ think is right." Janelle sighed. "I'm tired, and my feet are swollen, and I all this talk has, admittedly, made me ache for Nevy. I caution you to think about what I've said, Hermione. I'll see you in the morning."

Without another word, Janelle heaved herself from her chair and brought her cup to the sink, then left the kitchen to climb the stairs and return to bed with her husband. Hermione was left alone to think, now conveniently free of appetite.

-x-

Harry moaned slightly in his sleep, and rolled over, blinking one eye open.

"Herm-", he began, but was silenced as Hermione cast a powerful spell over him.

"Soporiferum," she said with conviction and, with a flick of her wrist, Harry was again lulled into a deep sleep. Now sure he would remain unconscious for a minimum of thirty minutes into the future, Hermione continued her hurried task of packing his things. She shrunk and shoved every of his articles of clothing into a suitcase, followed by her own garments borrowed from Janelle (which had been summoned from her room).

She dressed Harry haphazardly and took his hand, her other grasping the metal handle of the suitcase. Hermione prayed that she wouldn't be spliced as she apparated them into the shrieking shack, located in the deserted town of Hogsmeade. It had been memorialized for Sirius Black after his death, and was now somewhat like a museum; well furnished and spotless. It unnerved Hermione to be so close to the place which had been her home for so long, but she could think of nowhere else to safely leave Harry. She performed the sleeping spell upon him once more, and hurried to the abandoned apothecary.

"Please," she whispered, relying on her wand for light as she browsed the shelves. "Please, have a stock of lotic acid... yes! Thank you, Master Delamater!"

Equipped with lotic acid, derived from the lotus flower and a crucial ingredient in a sweet dream potion, Hermione quickly and quietly made her way back to Harry. He was asleep on a couch, just as she had left him, and she smiled at him in his slumber.

"I'm sorry about all this, Harry. I can't think of anything else to do," she said softly, smoothing the hair across his brow. Hermione pressed a kiss to the scar on his forehead, and gently placed a finger on his chin. "Open wide..." she instructed, though he most likely could not hear her, and propped open his mouth. Carefully, she dripped an incredibly large dose of exactly twenty four drops into his mouth, watching them fizzle and create little red welts along his tongue and in the back of his throat. She hesitated, then added a twenty fifth drop for good measure, and closed his jaw quickly to prevent the vapors from escaping. When sure the acid had absorbed, Hermione placed another kiss on his forehead. "I'm sorry, Harry." She said, and apparated into thin air.

-

A/N: Uncensored version can be found at http:tangledupinblue. 


	14. Apria, Eliot and Harold

Erstwhile on TUB:

"I'm sorry about all this, Harry. I can't think of anything else to do," she said softly, smoothing the hair across his brow. Hermione pressed a kiss to the scar on his forehead, and gently placed a finger on his chin. "Open wide..." she instructed, though he most likely could not hear her, and propped open his mouth. Carefully, she dripped an incredibly large dose of exactly twenty four drops into his mouth, watching them fizzle and create little red welts along his tongue and in the back of his throat. She hesitated, then added a twenty fifth drop for good measure, and closed his jaw quickly to prevent the vapors from escaping. When sure the acid had absorbed, Hermione placed another kiss on his forehead. "I'm sorry, Harry." She said, and apparated into thin air.

-

Chapter Fourteen: Apria, Eliot, and Harold

Neville approached the wooden door carefully, biting his lip and hesitating before rapping his knuckles on the soft wood. There was no reply and so he tried again, rapping harder and more determinedly.

"Draco?" he asked, opening the door, though he had not been invited in. Draco was sitting cross legged on his bed, surrounded by tiny bits of what seemed to be confetti. His hair was messed from sleep, eyes tired, and chin scratchy from neglect to shave, but his suite and tie were smooth and pressed, as if he planned to attend a formal engagement. As Neville looked on, Draco paid him no attention; he silently tore page after page from his open book, then, slowly, destroyed each page, bit by bit, shredding the writing over his bedspread. Neville swallowed. "Draco, Janelle wanted me to tell you that... that Hermione's run off again." Draco looked up in alarm, momentarily pausing in his defilement of the classic novel which lay in his possession.

"Where's Harry?" he asked, sounding innocently surprised. Neville looked ashamed to be the bearer of such unwonted news.

"He's missing too," he admitted, eyes trailing to the carpet. Draco's tenseness left him and he turned back to his chosen task at hand.

"Well, then I doubt she wants me to come after her, does she?" Draco relayed bitterly. "She's made her choice; let her do what she pleases." Neville hesitated, wary of how to approach the situation.

"Draco, if it's any consolation, I-"

"Leave me," Draco said, voice soft and void of emotion. Neville sighed, nodding sadly, and left Draco to solemnly shred the pages which told the story of a group of young children, lost in a candy cane forest.

-x-x-x-

Hermione opened her eyes to see a large, stone edifice and shuddered at its resemblance to the former Hogwarts castle. Pulling her cloak tighter around her, she tiptoed through the rusted, broken gate and crept up the path to the front doors. Tearing a line through the large yellow sign which proclaimed the building foreclosed and drawing her wand from her pocket, Hermione charmed the entrance unlocked and forced the rusty hinges to move. The doors groaned in protest as she pressed herself through them, and Hermione sighed in relief. She sent a charm to fix the broken lights on the ceiling, then another in succession to light them, and stared around her in awe.

"Wow," she noted, sounding impressed. "So this is the infamous Malfoy Manor..."

After taking a moment to view the entryway, Hermione began to wander through the corridors, peaking into rooms and taking in the scenery. She came to the room she had hoped to find with a surprisingly small amount of trouble. Pushing the dusty door back on its hinges, she quietly stepped into the study and made her way toward the little desk against the opposite wall.

As she entered, the candles lit themselves automatically- sending a dull yellow light over the various items on the desktop. Hermione scanned the poorly lit surface until she located a long metal box which held within it a million address cards. She smiled to herself.

"That was easy. Now... S, s, s... where are you?" she mumbled, fingering through the cards until her fingers fell over that which she had searched so tirelessly for. "Here. Now-" Hermione began, turning back toward the door, but was interrupted as a tiny orange owl flew directly into her chest. "Fagan! Oh, I'm sorry love- forgot all about you, didn't I?" Fagan hooted his disapproval, but did not seem angry as he cooed against her chest and lovingly rubbed his head over her collarbone. She allowed herself to take pleasure in his presence for a moment, then sighed and pulled him away. Fagan squawked in disapproval and Hermione chuckled in his expense. "I'm sorry, love, but I've got to apparate. I'm on a strict time limit... here," she said, and recopied the address on a scrap of paper from the desk. "This is where I'll be. Do you think you can find me there?" she asked, and Fagan hooted happily, taking the note in his beak. "You'll have to be quick; I won't have much time to wait for you." The little orange owl shot up in the air and made a slow loop before diving again toward the ground and expertly directing himself through the door and out the way he came. Hermione smiled after him, shaking her head, and sighed before disappearing.

-x-x-x-

Faced with an unfamiliar green door, decorated with peeling paint, Hermione couldn't help but feel nervous. She lifted a heavy hand to rap against the surface and bit her lip as she waited for any tenant to acknowledge her beckoning.

After only a few heartbeats, running feet could be heard pounding on the floor, and a small body impacted the wooden entrance. Hermione herself winced, wondering if perhaps it were a bad time to come asking favors, but was appeased as a small child appeared in the doorway, rubbing at his head and looking slightly embarrassed. Hermione smiled, squatting to be eye level with the boy.

"Hello, love," she greeted friendlily, admiring the amount of his father she could see in the child. "You must be Eliot." He grinned from ear to ear, standing straight and tall as he puffed out his chest.

"Yes'm. Are you here to see _me_?" he asked, sounding excited even through his manly facade. Hermione laughed softly, enamored by the precious child, and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Eliot. But, you've been a charming host and I am very glad to meet you," she assured, holding out a hand for him to shake with a disappointed and lethargic grip.

"Ellie, dear, who's that at the door?" called a womanly voice from further in the small, one story house, and Eliot rolled his eyes dramatically.

"I dunno, Mum," he called back, and Hermione rose to her feet. A moment later, a thin, dark haired woman who looked to be nearing the age of thirty bustled into view, straddling a toddler on her hip.

"Eliot, take Luca into the den," she directed upon realizing that she did not have acquaintance with the girl in the doorway, and her son groaned.

"But, _Mum!_"

"_Eliot_," she mocked. "Do as I say." He did so grudgingly, dragging his little lump of a brother nearly across the floor, and disappearing into a room adjacent to the entryway, which seemed to be the kitchen. Once the young ones were safely out of earshot, the dark haired woman turned to her guest with a tired smile. "Can I help you?" Hermione returned her grin and produced a slight nod.

"Yes, I'm looking for..." she began, and her smile dropped quickly. "Drat, I don't even know his first name... a Mr. Sergio, former care provider for Draco Malfoy? I believe him to be your husband, if I am not mistaken." The woman looked slightly wary.

"Yes, he is. May I ask whom it is that has sent you?"

"No one, Mrs. Sergio," Hermione said, producing her hand once again to be shaken. "I am Hermione Granger, an... affiliate of Draco Malfoy. I just need to speak to your husband for a moment- it really shouldn't take a very long time." Adora Sergio nodded softly, shaking her guest's proffered hand.

"Of course, it's no trouble at all. Please, come in," she said and Hermione entered gratefully, standing on the clean tile floor as Adora closed the door and moved quickly toward the room her sons had recently entered. "Landon!" her voice bellowed through the little home, causing a stir about the inhabitants.

The man Hermione had come to know fondly as Sergio soon appeared in the kitchen, his wife tagging along behind him, and stopped in surprise as he recognized his company.

"Miss," he said in astonishment, blinking against the sight as if he thought her a ghost. "What... What are you doing _here_? Is something wrong? Your master, is he quite all right?" Hermione, smiling at the comforting sight that was concern, shook her head and held a hand to stop him.

"No, no, nothing like that. As far as I am aware, Draco is in perfect health," she assured, then paused to sigh. "Sergio, you once told me that you would do anything that I wished of you."

"Yes..." he admitted, sparing a glance to his wife. Adora looked intrigued with the conversation, and not at all suspicious or intoned with jealousy.

"Well," Hermione began. "I've come to ask a favor."

-x-x-x-

After leaving the broken down Malfoy Manor, Fagan made a direct and determined path to the farmhouse. He counted the windows, assessed possible admission, and burst through an open portal, breaking furiously in just enough time to land gracefully on a blond headed brow.

Draco woke from his restless slumber with a small smile, identifying the little ball of orange feathers which had startled him from sleep.

"Hey, Faygie. Did you find her?"

Fagan hooted excitedly, taking into flight again and circling the room. Draco sat up, rubbing his brow and laughing airily in amusement. When the little bird came to land again on the bed, hopping around in protest of the soft surface, Draco's smile fell and he sighed.

"Was she all right?" he asked, almost tentatively, and Fagan hooted his response before extending an encumbered leg. Draco looked surprised, taking the letter gently from its messenger. The little owl immediately took flight, disappearing out the window and into the sky at lightning speed while his superior curiously fingered the parchment in his hands. Draco debated for a moment whether to open it and prolong his self inflicted mental torture, but rationalized that it could bring him peace of mind.

He unfolded the doubled slip, identifying an address with hesitation. _Does she **want** me to come after her?_ It was only after reading the address several times that Draco realized that he knew to whom this abode belonged, and he found himself doubly torn._Sergio? What would she be doing with Sergio? Is there something going on between **them** as well? _

With fiery eyes and fierce determination, Draco swung his legs over the side of his bed and exited his room with purposeful strides. After grabbing his cloak and broom, he made a beeline for the front door, ignoring the dark haired girl who rushed toward him frantically. Before she could manage a word, he silenced her.

"I'm going out," Draco stated with an air of finality.

"You can't," Teige protested, latching her fingers into his arm. Draco turned his angry eyes on her, noticing with relish the look of surprised fear that flashed quickly in her eyes.

"And why, is that, exactly?" he asked, spacing his words as to accent his demonic aura. Regaining her conscious, Teige glared with a distaste to rival his own, and wrenched her fingers from his tense limb.

"Because," she stated, almost as if she didn't plan to continue. "Janelle is in labor, Neville's having a nervous breakdown, she won't let me anywhere near her, and... she's asking for you." Draco dropped his broom in surprise. All determination and anger dissipated from his features, and he looked innocently confused; eyes flashing between the front door and the first at the top of the stairs. After a moment, he sighed and gave a nod before shedding his cloak and leaving it piled on the entry room floor.

"How long has she been experiencing pain?" he asked professionally, making his way directly up the stairs. Teige trailed behind him, somewhat surprised, and shook her head.

"I... I don't..." she stuttered, and he interrupted her with another defined question.

"Did you call the medi-witch?"

"Of course I did; she's on her way."

"All right, I want everyone out of that room," Draco said, eyes fixated on the brown wooden door.

"Everyone?" Teige questioned, confused, and he corrected himself.

"Neville can stay and everyone else she asks for, but I want as few people in there as humanly possible. In the meantime, we should prepare for the medi-witch. Get some towels, boil some water, and find something proper for the little thing to wear once it's out here."

Teige considered making a snappy remark, but held her tongue for the sake of her sister and did everything Draco asked of her. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he entered the room and quickly closed the door behind him, leaving her to wonder of the events unfolding behind it. A moment later, the door opened again and a flow of disappointed onlookers seeped onto the landing and made their way, grumbling, in opposite directions.

-x-x-x-

Sergio led both Hermione and his wife into a smaller room off the kitchen, and all three adults seated themselves while the children lingered, eavesdropping from outside the door.

"Miss, I'd like to help you any way I can... I'm just not sure what I can do," Sergio began, wringing his hands nervously and shooting repeated glances at his curious wife.

"Well..." Hermione began, hesitating and trying to decide exactly how to phrase what she needed from him by way of favor. "Something's come up, you see, and I... I can't stay at the farmhouse anymore. I don't quite know my way around the wizarding world, as of yet..." She fashioned herself with a lopsided smile. "I was supposed to take that class in the final semester."

"We..." Adora began, licking her lips. "We don't have much room, Miss Granger, but we'd be happy to put you up as long as you're recovering... as long as you don't mind a couch." Hermione smiled.

"That's very kind of your, Mrs. Sergio, but that's not what I mean. I have more than enough money to support... myself, for quite some time. I just need... a tour guide. I need help finding a place to stay," she explained, and Sergio beamed.

"That's not a difficult favor at all, Miss," he agreed. "I'd be honored to help you, and I know just the place."

"Thank you very much, Sergio. It is greatly appreciated."

-x-x-x-

"Draco!" Janelle called once the crowd was gone and she could view him properly. He strode to her bedside and she took his hand in a crushing grip. "Don't leave me."

"I'm right here, Nell," he promised easily, smiling and squeezing her hand in reassurance. Janelle looked instantly calmed, but tensed again a moment later, squeezing both Draco's hand and Neville's, which was tangled in her opposing palm.

"It _hurts_," she moaned through clenched teeth. "Why didn't you _tell_ me it would hurt this much?" Draco laughed softly.

"I thought you knew."

Janelle grumbled as she waited for the pain to cease, then fell exhaustedly into the bed pillows. Draco, smirking, turned his attention to Neville, who whimpered as she released his hand and cradled it to his chest.

"Holding up?" Draco asked him casually and Neville looked startled, as if he'd only just realized that the blond had stayed behind.

"Draco! You have to do something! Is this supposed to be happening? It's all happened so fast... where's the medi-witch? How long does it take to bloody-fucking apparate, for Merlin's sake!" Neville rambled, digging his fingers, wounded and healthy, deep into the matted black tresses atop his head. Janelle, now recovered from her episode, beat him shallowly on the chest.

"Nevy! I can't believe you! I-" she began, but was interrupted by a stab of pain. "Ah- I,I... What right do you have to be hysterical?" she screamed at him. "I'm in pain! I'm in danger! If _I_ want to be hysterical, I'm going to bloody be the hysterical one!" Draco was amused for a moment, smirking to himself at her rambling screams, but a concerned frown crossed his face as Janelle arched her back and bore down on his hand; she was, in fact, having another contraction.

"They shouldn't be this close," he said softly to himself, and Neville spun.

"What? Something's wrong! Something's wrong, something's wrong... I _knew_ something was wrong!"

"Will you both just calmed down for a minute, _please_?" Draco asked, standing from his kneeling position beside the bed and beginning to fold down the layers of sheets that covered the blonde woman's legs and hips.

"What are you doing? Draco?" Janelle asked, somewhat in fear, as the pain ebbed away. Draco ignored her question.

"When did all this start?" he asked firmly, placing his hands on her stomach. Janelle sighed and leaned back in the pillows, thinking.

"I don't know... early, early this morning. I had some foreign tea before bed, I thought it was just a stomach ache, so I... I took an antacid and went back to sleep," she said, almost as if the realization had just come to her. Neville's jaw dropped in surprise.

"That long?" he asked. "That long and you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't think it was anything!" Janelle claimed in defense, but Neville refused to back down.

"Nell, you should _know_ better."

"Neville, what did you do with the emergency kit the medi-witch gave you?" Draco asked, ignoring their bickering and concentrating on the more urgent task at hand. Neville looked completely oblivious, but Janelle took a breath to speak.

"On the-" she started, bit her lip against a moan of pain, and strained to continue. "The bureau... on the bureau." Draco retrieved the little kit, leaving Neville to intercept the bone crushing grip of his wife.

"All right," he began, handing the kit to Neville as he started at the top of the list of instructions. "If contractions appear to be less than a minute apart... yes... pink potion first." Neville, listening sparsely, worked slowly at his duty and was quickly reprieved by Janelle, who wrenched the pink bottle from the box and downed it all in one swallow. She breathed quickly for a few moments, then sighed in contentment and relaxed into the pillows. "You should feel numbness..."

"Wonderful, god sent numbness," Janelle praised, closing her eyes and relaxing. Draco smiled.

"Right- next. Did your water break?" he asked her and she nodded.

"About half an hour ago... which reminds me; there's an awful bit of mess in the bathroom," she said, laughing airily as if intoxicated, and Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"Right..." he mumbled, reading the next line and approaching her. "Do you feel pressure?" Janelle nodded. "Here?" Draco asked, pressing two fingers to a spot in the lower region of her abdomen. Her eyebrows knotted themselves.

"Yes, and it's very uncomfortable. Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Draco. What a wonderful friend, you are," she grumbled unhappily and Draco smiled at her sarcasm. Then, he frowned.

"Neville, I'm going to need your help for a moment," he said, turning to his stocky friend, and Neville's face flushed with fear. "You've just got to look and tell me if there's anything to see," Draco explained, and Neville's brow tightened in confusion.

"I assure you, it's something... now can we get back to this baby business? Please?" he asked, embarrassed at such admittance. Draco laughed and pressed a fingertip to his temple.

"I _meant_ the baby, Longbottom," he said, moving to the top of the bed. "See if it's at all visible yet."

"Oh, no; I-I... I _can't_. I'm squeamish, and I... I just can't!" Neville wailed, turning away from his sweaty, exhausted wife.

"It's either you or me, and I think Nell'd prefer it be former rather than latter."

Janelle bent her knees in a classic, baby-birthing position and shoved her husband toward the bottom of the bed.

"_Look_, Nev, it's the _least_ you can do," she pleaded, pressing her hand to the spot Draco hand touched and trying to relieve the bloat-like pressure. Neville swallowed his pride and crept to the bottom of the bed, lifting her skirt and peeking under it. He came up again, white as a sheet and twice and bland-faced.

"There's definitely... something."

"Can I push now, Draco? Please?" Janelle begged, becoming more and more aware of her natural instincts and needs. Draco shook his head.

"This isn't good. We can't wait, we're going to have to start this ourselves. Take the purple potion next," he instructed, then crossed the room to the door and opening it to find Teige crouched on the ground amidst the findings of her instructed scavenger hunt. Draco took the items carefully and nodded his head to her. "Check in with the medi-witch again... it won't be long now," he told her civilly, disappearing back into the room and closing the door on the wide-eyed sister of his child-rearing friend. "Here," Draco said to Neville, handing him a towel which had been soaked in warm water.

"What's this for?" he asked innocently, and Draco patted him softly on the head.

"To catch your baby, Nev. Get ready, it'll be coming very soon. Nell, you can push if you need to push."

"Oh, Merlin, save me," Neville whispered, holding the towel a foot from Janelle, as if he expected the child to literally need to be caught. Draco corrected him and moved again to stand at the head of the bed and coach Janelle on her pushes.

Less than ten minutes later, Apria Charisse Longbottom was introduced to the world, directly into her father's arms. Janelle spared a few moments to view her daughter and share joy with her husband before drinking the final potion of the set and falling into a deep sleep as her body healed itself.

-x-x-x-

It was dark in the little building, despite the fact that the sun was high in the afternoon sky. Hermione crept in silently, though she knew there was still a good few hours before she needed any such thing as stealth.

"Hi, Harry," she whispered, smiling as she approached his body, which lay as limp and twisted as it had when she had left him. "Ready to go home?" Hermione kissed the top of his head and moved further down his body, to crawl over him. She straddled his waist and pressed her chest to his upper torso, latching her arms behind him, and apparated.

She had Harry landed standing in the middle of small, cabin-like structure with four rooms and a loft. Harry, being sound asleep as he was, fell ungracefully to the floor and continued his slumber. Hermione laughed at him, and used her wand to direct him into bed. She administered a few more drops of lotic acid, to keep him sleeping until a proper waking hour, and tucked him into bed before leaving the home and locking the door, then hurrying off to the little town down the road for supplies.

-

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	15. Always Second Winded

Erstwhile on TUB:

"Hi, Harry," she whispered, smiling as she approached his body, which lay as limp and twisted as it had when she had left him. "Ready to go home?" Hermione kissed the top of his head and moved further down his body, to crawl over him. She straddled his waist and pressed her chest to his upper torso, latching her arms behind him, and apparated.

She had Harry landed standing in the middle of small, cabin-like structure with four rooms and a loft. Harry, being sound asleep as he was, fell ungracefully to the floor and continued his slumber. Hermione laughed at him, and used her wand to direct him into bed. She administered a few more drops of lotic acid, to keep him sleeping until a proper waking hour, and tucked him into bed before leaving the home and locking the door, then hurrying off to the little town down the road for supplies.

-

Chapter Fifteen: Always Second Winded

Hermione, lying wide awake in bed, stared at the raven haired man beside her in anticipation of his groggy return to consciousness. Harry stirred at nearly half past eight, just as she had anticipated, and brought a hand to rub at his face with a groan. Hermione smiled genuinely and kissed his temple, draping a comforting arm over his chest.

"Hey, Harry. How are you feeling?" she asked softly, resting the bridge of her nose against his head. Harry blinked his eyes open, looking curiously at his surroundings.

"Tired..." he breathed, blinking. "Where am I?" Hermione squeezed him close to her and pressed her lips to the curve of his neck.

"It's going to be all right, Harry. You're home now. I'm here, I'll help you," she whispered desperately into his ear and Harry's face grew understandably worried.

"Hermione? What's going on?" he asked, rubbing her forearm with his hand. She gasped and sat up, gazing at him with astonishment written plainly on her face.

"Harry? You remember me?" she asked, covering her mouth as if trying to contain herself. Harry sat up beside her, eyebrows knitted in absolute confusion.

"What are you on about? Of _course_ I remember you. Why wouldn't I? What's going on?"

"Oh, Harry," she burst, forcing tears and throwing herself at him. He embraced her, holding her in his arms though he still did not know of the events which had caused her so much turmoil. When she finally pulled away, face damp and lip trembling, Hermione forced him into a passionate kiss. After some time, Harry reluctantly pulled back.

"Hermione _what_ is going on?" This time, his tone was more demanding than questioning, as it had previously been. Hermione bit her bottom lip, searching his face while he held her at arm's length.

"Harry..." she started, sniffling and placing her hands on his chest. "Harry, you had a nervous breakdown. Last Friday, almost ten days ago... you opened a letter from one of your job agencies, I can't remember which, but you didn't get the job and you went off; raving about some madman named Mauriz and how it was all his fault that you were unhappy. I've _tried_ to keep you happy, Harry, really I have... and I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen. You said I didn't know what I was talking about because I'd been locked up for too long, and that that was Maruiz's fault too. I was so scared, Harry."

"Hermione..." Harry tested, embracing her absentmindedly while a million thoughts and theories strangled his brain. "Hermione, you were... you _were_ locked up in the establishment for almost six years. Maruiz killed Dumbledore, remember? The day I killed Voldemort..." he said, speaking slowly as if explaining something mildly complex to a child with limited capacity. Hermione sat straight up, tears falling freely down her cheeks, and shook her head.

"No... no, not again. No, Harry," she moaned, pounding on his chest with light and easy fists. He gently took one into his grasp.

"What?" Harry asked softly, whispering as if it would provide some sort of comfort. Hermione took his face within her palms, forcing him to stare into her eyes and listen to her words.

"That's not _true_, Harry. Mauriz doesn't exist; you _did_ kill Voldemort, in seventh year, and we graduated, and I've taken care of you, Harry. I love you. Dumbledore died of natural causes last summer. You had nothing to _do_ with it, Harry. I've been _here_, with you, for six years. Harry, please, you have to remember..." she rambled, shaking him to punctuate her points. "Look," Hermione said suddenly, spinning to point toward the window. "There's the brown spider outside the window, remember? We named her, she's our _spirit_ protector. Then, there, that's where we put the empty cans before I take them into the village. Harry, _please_."

"I... I'm sorry, Hermione," he said softly, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "I don't remember anything." She dropped her head in despair, but he lifted her chin a moment later. "But that's all right; you can tell me everything. Soon everything will be back to normal. Don't cry, I hate to see you unhappy." Hermione did her best to offer a smile and Harry returned it, then complimented the moment with a sweet kiss. "All right?" She nodded softly, wiping her tears and sighing before falling back against his chest.

"I guess I should be grateful," she said softly, gripping a bit of his shirt in her fist. "The doctors weren't sure if you'd even remember who I was."

"Oh, baby," he said, embracing her tightly against him. "I'd never forget you. Never." She shivered against him.

"How do I know you haven't forgotten me? You remember my name, but what about _me_, Harry? Everything we've been through together, you remember none of it. What if, in this dream world you've created, I'm someone else? What if you don't love me anymore?"

"Of course I-" Harry began, though her logic made absolute sense. He couldn't bear the thought of harboring ill feelings toward Hermione, in whatever state he or she be in. Hermione, working on the adrenaline of her immense web of lies, initiated a kiss which took him by surprise in more areas than one.

"Show me."

-x-x-x-

"Hermione," Harry asked, nestled in front of their tiny fireplace with his room mate and listening contentedly as she read certain passages from the novel adhered to her fingers, and Hermione looked up with a smile. "Can I ask you some things?"

"Of course you can, Harry," she said, immediately marking her place and setting the book aside before draping her legs over his and giving him her full attention. "You should. It will be good for you." He smiled and gave a small sigh before beginning.

"How long have we lived here?"

"Here?" Hermione asked, glancing around. "Not very long. About a month, actually. We moved because I found a job in the down, down the road. Not much of one, of course, but enough to buy groceries and keep up this place. But then, you had trouble finding one of your own..." she trailed off, then started. "Oh, but don't you worry about that now, Harry. We'll be fine."

"Where did we live before?" Harry asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"We've lived a lot of places," she admitted, sighing in disappointment. When we left school, we decided to stay together... and we couldn't go to university and start a family at the same time, so we've been moving where work is since then." She looked up at him. "You told me it didn't matter to you as long as you had me with you." Harry smiled.

"That, I can see myself saying," he agreed, then kissed her before continuing. "Where's Ron?" Hermione tensed and Harry was instantly wary of his question.

"You don't remember," she said as if realizing it for the first time herself, then shook her head and kissed below his chin. "Of course you don't remember. You think some madman came in and kidnapped the lot of us. Harry, baby, I'm sorry- Ron's gone. We lost him the day you fought Voldemort." She heard him take a sharp breath and felt her heart break at his pain. "I'm sorry Harry," she said truthfully. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Ron," he said, voice breathy with denial. "Ron's dead." Hermione held him in the silence that followed his realization, holding back tears that would not look completely out of place if shed. After a moment of grief and recovery of mild shock, Harry exhaled. "What about the others?"

"The others?"

"Yes, the others; Ginny and Draco- Teige, Janelle, Neville, Dean and Seamus... everyone," he asked. "What happened to them?"

"I... I don't know, Harry," Hermione said. "After the battle, we... we drifted apart. Everyone moved on; it was a long time ago."

"How many of them died? In the war?"

"Harry, please calm down. There were so many who died... none that you've named. Except perhaps Janelle and Teige- I'm sorry, love, but I don't remember them. Did they attend Hogwarts?"

Harry was breathing rapidly and Hermione felt exponentially horrible for doing this to him. He paused for a long moment to collect himself and slowed his breathing.

"No... I don't think they exist. Forget I mentioned them."

"Harry, I know it's hard for you, but I'm here. You can trust me, Harry," she said, swallowing hard. "I love you."

"I know, love," he said. "I know."

"I think that's enough questions," Hermione said, picking up her book from the tea table. "Where was I?"

-x-x-x-

After the medi-witch (who looked to be about a century past her prime) had accounted for her absence by explaining that she was substituting for the Longbottoms' _current_ medic, who was at present out of commission with a broken arm, and that she simply could not find her reading glasses, Draco left the bedroom emotionally spent and with no energy to listen to the old woman babble continuously. From what he could tell from Teige's explanation later that evening, the midwife handled the afterbirth and potion administration about as well as a toddler manages a semi-automatic, but got through the process without killing anyone. Apria, though a cute little thing, was amazingly obnoxious for a baby of magical blood. Normally, the immature magic of the child responds to the magic of its parents which provides a calming sensation, keeping the child at peace for a majority of its time.

Chuckling to himself, Draco wondered if the reaction might have had something to do with the fact that the only biological magic that could soothe the child would have to come from Neville and he had very little to speak of. That and he almost refused to come within more than a few feet of proximity to his child. He'd been the first to hold her, had passed her off to Draco before her sex could be identified, and hadn't held her since. Janelle was understanding, but Draco assumed that was because she was bedridden and full to the brim with potions for pain relief and comfort. He doubted a world war could spark her concern.

When all was said and done, the men decided it would be fitting to take Neville out for the evening and get him over his nerves. Draco had been invited and, being honorary godfather, agreed with only mild reluctance. As the men readied themselves to leave, Draco recalled that he had left his cloak in the front room and it sparked remembrance of the task he had been about to perform. After a moment of thought he sighed and went to retrieve his covering, deciding that Hermione would be safe enough with Harry for a while and that he could use a drink after such a horrid week.

When the barrage of men arrived back, many missing either for having gone off with one-night-stands or returning home to their wives, Draco seemed to be the only one sober enough to fit the key in the lock and open the door. He did, and led the troops into an all-out war zone. Evidently, Apria was not having a wonderful first day of life and, because Janelle had neither the energy nor the will to get out of bed and care for her, she was left for hours with a handful of equally exhausted women. Teige happened to be holding her niece as the men returned and, with eyes ablaze, handed her off to Draco before stomping up the staircase without a word.

The other women quietly followed and Ginny gave him a sympathetic look as she took care of her highly intoxicated brother. The other men seemed not to even have noticed the exchange and returned to their rooms, or flopped onto the floor, to sleep off their alcohol. With a sigh, Draco turned to the small blonde babe in his arms and gave her half a smile. She'd stopped crying after being given to the stranger who smelled of musk and, at the moment, fire whiskey.

"Well," he said, shifting her onto his shoulder. "Looks like it's just you and I, Appy pie. What say we turn in, hm?"

As Draco walked the three flights of stairs to his bedroom, starting very carefully to avoid any harm that may come to his cargo, he realized how incredibly sober he really was. He'd _tried_ to drink, to join in the fun of the others, but his heart really wasn't into it. The bar was dark and cramped and reminded him of the Hogwarts dungeons, which in turn reminded him of his duty to the establishment, which, of course, brought on more thoughts of Hermione. The fire whiskey Blaise had ordered him made his stomach turn, and the white wine he exchanged it with tasted too much like Hermione, which he realized was preposterous, but felt it all the same. While the other men laughed and drank and beat on each other, he sat at the bar alone and thought about her.

It was the strangest thing to think about; the one thing he was sure would never happen to him had happened; not falling in love, he'd hoped optimistically for that, but he'd fallen head over heels before the object of his affection had any idea that such a possibility existed. And, not that alone, but she'd been taken. Not by law or power but, in her own heart, she already belonged to the infamous Harry Potter. He'd fallen for an untouchable, someone he could never have a future with, and the effects were painstakingly obvious. Draco Malfoy had never felt an ache quite like he felt when something reminded him of her, and yet, he knew how insane the entire situation would seem to any passerby. How careless and foolhardy could he be to fall so madly in love over the course of a few days? As unbelievable as it may seem to some, there was no mistaking the feeling deep in his stomach, no mistaking all the broken records playing on the turntable of his mind which told him that he _had_ to see her, and no mistaking the constant visual of her face he held whenever his eyes drifted closed.

On the same leaf, no one could overlook the fact that she did not return any of his feelings. Draco was absolutely certain that he'd become a statistic; a heart-broken, ambitionless sap- burned by love but too enchanted to find any other fire to warm him. He was sure that Hermione felt nothing for him, except possible friendship. They'd held an awkward bond because of their unorthodox situation, but that was all it ever had been to her. She'd laugh at him now, sitting in the middle of a party and sulking over her. It was then that he decided not to look for her. The address that had burned a hole in his pocket all evening was in that instant shredded on the bar and dumped ceremoniously into his wine. The bartender looked at him oddly, but did not comment and Draco completely ignored all other presence in the room but his own. If Hermione could be so happy without him, with Harry to take care of her, he certainly wasn't going to go begging for her to return. It was different this time; she had help, she didn't need him and, though he ached at the thought of needing her, Draco vowed on a barstool confessional that he would do the right thing. He would love her, and he would leave her alone.

It was as he was readying Apria in the long-time baby-stocked bathroom that he recalled this and realized he'd had only a sip of alcohol the entire night. As an afterthought, he kicked himself for letting Justin apparate them home. Amazing they didn't all end up on separate corners of the earth. Fresh from a bath in the perfectly sized sink and dressed in the pajama's he'd given her at her shower, Apria Longbottom laid peacefully on the plush bathroom rug, no more than a blob of skin with outcroppings of blonde locks on her crown. Her eyes were partly open, which Draco already knew was a good sign she didn't take too much after her father, and he couldn't help but smile at her.

Startled by something falling from a nearby shelf, the baby let out a small wail and stretched her neck as if just waking up from a wonderfully deep sleep. Draco frowned. Though she looked nothing like her and had no reason to whatsoever, he saw Hermione in the tiny child.

When her stretching was finished, the discomfort of being startled caught up with Apria and she began to whimper and cry. Draco picked her up from the cold floor immediately, hoisting her onto his shoulder and resting a hand securely on the bottom of her freshly changed diaper. He spoke in low tones, shushing her, and felt his heart go out to her as she was in such distress. He guessed his magical energy meshed well enough with hers to act as a surrogate parent, because Apria calmed instantly and fell into a steady rhythm of sucking her thumb as she rested against his shoulder and it occurred to Draco that she'd calmed instantly when first introduced to his arms as well. At this realization, he couldn't help but feel a little smug.

After situating her safely in the bed for temporary safe keeping, Draco dashed about the house and summoned the things he would need to keep her happy for the rest of the night, so that he would not have to venture too far from his room to aid her. Apria noticed his absence in due time and began fussing again, to which Draco came immediately to the rescue; joining her in bed and resting her on his chest so that he could stroke her back and soothe her. When she had settled into sleep again, he sighed.

"Well, kid, I'm... a friend, I guess. Your godfather, as well, but for the life of me I hope I never have to take up that offer and keep you. You've got some great parents, you know. A little unorthodox, I'll admit, but about as good as they come," he told her, keeping his voice soft and soothing. He paused before speaking again with new vigor. "You know, I wonder if you'll have any magic in you at all, love. I'd have to say your father's lucky he can even access his. As second in command to your parents, I suppose it's as much my responsibility as theirs to make sure you get off to a good start and, regarding the circumstances, it might be best if we start practicing early. What'd you say? Can you say _wingardium leviosa_? No? Well, perhaps you're a bit _too_ young." He sighed. "Let's make a deal. I'll help you out with this whole... growing up thing, and you help me keep my mind off some things. That sound all right?"

Draco paused as if he expected an answer and noted with slight amusement that she had already fallen quite deeply asleep and was emitting soft snores as she covered the expanse of his chest with a comfortable weight.

"You know, Ap; I think you came just in time. I'm glad you're finally here and I happen to know that your father will be immensely happy that you lack undercarriage once he comes out of his drunken stupor and realizes what happened tonight. We'll show him, though, won't we? You'll be a star seeker. Maybe by the time you're ready, we'll even have Hogwarts up and running again. I bet anything you'll be a Ravenclaw. Your mother would have been a Ravenclaw, I don't doubt that." He paused. "I'm going to stick to this deal, you know. No matter what happens, I'll be right here keeping you out of trouble. Always."

-x-x-x-

Days turned quickly into weeks and they, inevitably, bled into months. Draco threw himself wholly into Apria, noting her every movement and keeping tabs on everything she did. Neville had taken only a week off before returning to his job and Janelle soon spent her maternity leave and was forced to go as well. They had talked of some type of daycare program, but Draco had volunteered and was hired at nearly half the price of all competitors. He had originally refused money on motive that he was practically family, but they had insisted and he reluctantly accepted, spending only what he needed for his share of grocery and bills at the end of each month, and putting the rest away to earn interest.

He toyed with ideas of how he would spend it, imagining Apria at sixteen with a brand new car in her driveway, or enough of a start on college to get into the best schools in Britain, and, late at night, even the smiling face of Hermione as he handed her the key to a refurnished Victorian cottage with white picket fencing and a tire swing in a tree.

Draco remained a firm believer in starting out early with thoughts of magic and trying, for the most part unsuccessfully, to get the small girl to say a spell. The day she crawled across the entire foyer of the farmhouse while chasing a ball was held in almost the same regard as the day she sneezed and accidentally set the couch ablaze.

As the months passed, thoughts of attacking the establishment began to circulate once again and the mood of the house was significantly deteriorated. Many of the occupants and come-and-gos held grudges against Harry, claiming that he no longer cared about the cause and was no longer their concern. Draco forced himself to agree on those principals alone and tried his very hardest not to let his personal feelings alter his judgment.

For the most part, Draco was so distracted by Apria that he was left out of most of the planning. It wasn't until Justin stood up in the middle of a rather large group at the dinner table and cleared his throat, forcing those around him to turn their attention from their coffee cups.

"As you know, it's been almost nine months since the... 'battle' and rescue. We've got a plan of attack that should be ready within the week, and we're counting on this Saturday to put it into action. I'm not _requiring_ any of you to be there, but we need as many men as we can... women too, of course. Spread the word; recruit," he stated professionally, then cleared his throat and shifted. "Erm, dinner was excellent, Janelle." She smiled her thank you and Justin sat down, allowing the table to be bathed in silence until, eventually, everyone drifted off to do their own planning and resting for battle. Apria was left in the care of Draco, who was determined to get her to eat more of the baby-friendly jarred meal than the half a spoonful she'd agreed to. Janelle and Neville allowed themselves leave at Janelle's insistence that they needed to have a 'talk' in the next room. Draco rolled his eyes as they walked away, sure he knew what the topic of conversation was to be.

"Cocoa!" Apria wailed, slamming her spoon against the table in annoyance at Draco's blatant ignorance when she was evidently in desperate need of mashed chicken and peas. He laughed and gave forth his full attention.

"Yes, yes, Appy, all right. Can't you do this on your own? Hm?"

Apria sat on her hands and opened her mouth, forcing Draco to feed her. He rolled his eyes and stuffed her mouth with a spoonful of chicken pot pie, which she promptly allowed to dribble completely down her front, then laughed amusedly at Draco's exasperation.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Janelle and Neville were having a heated conversation while trying unsuccessfully to keep their angry voices to a roaring minimum.

"Janelle, love, _please_ be practical. You _can't_ fight with us," he said, pleading with her to agree with him, and Janelle crossed her arms, looking to the ceiling as if trying to keep her emotions in check.

"Neville. I allowed it when I was pregnant. I allowed it afterward, when you wouldn't let me leave the bloody _house_... but I am in _perfect_ health and _fine_ enough physical condition. I will _not_ let you treat me like a child! I can do this!"

"No you _can't_! Nell, you're a _muggle_. How can you possibly expect to fight a war without a wand?"

"Get me a gun! I don't care, Nev- I _will _not sit around washing dishes while _you_ all go off to fight against the one madman that has made life in general a living hell. I want him dead just as much as you do; I want to be a part of it, just as much. If you loved me at all, you'd understand that," Janelle countered, turning away and walking toward the kitchen, but Neville caught her arm and drew her back.

"Nell," he said, taking a step closer to her. "I _do_ understand, and I _do_ love you. That's why I don't want you there. I want to know that you're safe, home. You know I don't want you unhappy."

"Have you ever thought that maybe _I_ want to know that _you're _safe as well? Maybe I like knowing that I can just glance to my left and be absolutely sure that you're all right. Maybe I want to be there, fighting beside you, so that if something _does_ happen, I can live with peace of mind that I did _absolutely everything_ that I could to stop it," she confessed, eyes on one of the buttons of his shirt, which was in desperate need of re-sewing. Neville was left speechless, his hand still resting limply on her arm. "Or," Janelle began again. "Or maybe I just want to feel included. I don't want to be the outsider anymore, Nev. I don't want to be the only one who can't contribute; who doesn't have the capabilities. I know, being a muggle is a handicap, but I've seen men with no legs run marathons. I should be able to _fight in a war_. Millions of muggles do that everyday."

"This is different, baby. If you're hit with the right curse, you _will_ die. There's no surviving an Avada... unless, of course, you're Harry. Janelle, there're even some, more minor, spells that could kill _you_. You don't have any experience with hexes or curses- you haven't built up any immunity. Honey, the truth is that there's a _greater_ chance you'll perish than there is of coming out with even a thread of life left... much less end up unscathed."

"I don't care. I don't care about any of that; this is more important than a few bumps and bruises."

"Nell," Neville sighed. "I..." He struggled for words, searching his mind for something that could strengthen his defense. "Baby, think about Appy." Janelle's heart skipped a beat and she spun to view the dining room, where her tiny daughter sat contentedly and safe in her highchair while her favorite godfather had a wonderfully exhausting time trying to give her adequate nutrition. She let out a breath when sure that the baby was in no immediate danger and turned back to her husband.

"What about her?"

"Well," Neville started. "What if something happened to you? It would be terrible for her..."

"No more so than growing up without a father," Janelle quickly shot back. "You'll be in danger too, Nev. You seem to think that you're invincible. Well, I've a news flash. You're _not_." She pulled her arm away from him and spun around, walking with conviction into the next room. Neville followed, hot on her heels.

"Love, please consider-"

"If you'll excuse me," she stated, taking Apria from her chair and relieving Draco of chicken-duty. "I've got to nurse _our_ daughter." As she started toward the bathroom, Apria propped on her shoulder, the little girl began to whine and fuss, reaching her arms out toward Draco.

"Cocoa!" she demanded. "Cocoa, cocoa, cocoa, cocoa!" Janelle sighed in defeat and brought her daughter in front of her to view.

"Appy, say 'Mama'. Come on, love. 'Dada' even," she pleaded and the baby stared for a moment at her mother before succumbing to her quivering bottom lip and bursting into yet another cry.

"Cocoa!"

"All right!" Janelle said, giving up and handing her baby over to Draco, as requested. She curled up on his chest and tucked her head below his chin, clutching his sweater as she continued tearing softly. "Why don't you want _me_ anymore? I remember when I used to sleep without my shirt on just to nurse every hour and now you don't need me at all? That's it, then? Not even a year old and done completely with your mother?"

"Janelle," Draco started, voice suggesting he thought her speech an overreaction. "She's just upset because you're fighting. You know that."

"That doesn't make it better, Draco. I'm sick of being second thought for _everyone_," Janelle said, sighing and turning away. "First my husband and now my daughter. Some great use I am." Before either of the men could react with words of comfort, Janelle fled the room and dashed up the stairs, slamming their bedroom door behind her. Neville sighed and dropped himself into a table chair.

"What am I supposed to say to that, Draco?" he asked, words muffled by the hands which covered his face. "How am I supposed to make everything better? Make her happy?" Draco gave a slight chuckle and handed Apria to her father. She was much more willing to be held by a parent who wasn't radiating anger and yelling at the other.

"I am _the_ wrong man to ask about women, Longbottom," he said, sighing and running the back of his index finger over Apria's tiny foot. "The _wrong_ man."

-

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue. 


	16. All is Fair in Love and War

Erstwhile on TUB:

"I'm sick of being second thought for _everyone_," Janelle said, sighing and turning away. "First my husband and now my daughter. Some great use I am."

"What am I supposed to say to that, Draco?" he asked, words muffled by the hands which covered his face. "How am I supposed to make everything better? Make her happy?" Draco gave a slight chuckle and handed Apria to her father.

"I am _the_ wrong man to ask about women, Longbottom," he said, sighing and running the back of his index finger over Apria's tiny foot. "The _wrong_ man."

-

Chapter Sixteen: All is Fair in Love and War

"Harry? Baby, are you all right?" Hermione asked, glancing to his reflection in the mirror as she stared at her own, tying her hair into a knot atop her head.

"Yeah," he said offhandedly, as if he hadn't really heard the question. Hermione turned around, dropping her hair and placing her full attention on Harry.

"You're lying. What are you thinking about?" she asked, sitting beside him on the bed and crawling into his lap. Harry broke from his stupor and shook his head.

"I was just thinking- shouldn't I see a doctor?"

"Why?" she said, sounding suddenly worried. "Are you feeling ill? You know, a lot of things can be cured right at home. You should really stay in bed anyway, Harry- you're still recuperating, as much as you hate to admit it."

"No- no, I'm fine. That's it exactly. I'm perfectly fine- I may not remember much, but I haven't felt this good in... well, I don't rightly know. It seems like a long time. Shouldn't I be getting a check up or something? Wouldn't the medics want to hear about my recovery?" Hermione sighed.

"Honestly, Harry- the medics don't care about much more than money. I owled them months ago and they told me to get on with it and owl back if there was any sort of relapse. They don't really care about _us_. They just want our gold," she smiled softly, hoping that he would laugh or show some sort of amusement, but Harry just stared blankly at a freckle on her neck. "Oh, Harry," Hermione said, sighing and marking a kiss on his forehead. "I wish you wouldn't worry yourself like this. Come on, love- just enjoy what you have while you still have it. You never know what's going to happen, Harry- tomorrow you could forget all about this."

Harry turned to her sharply.

"Don't you say that, Hermione. Don't you ever say that."

He held her shoulders tightly, but Hermione felt protected rather than frightened.

"I know you're confused, baby," she said, holding his cheeks in her palms. "And I wish there was some way I could ease you... but I can't. I'm trying to make you comfortable, Harry. Let me." Harry sighed and bowed his head, placing his forehead to her chest. He didn't say anything, but Hermione understood him perfectly and complied to hold him for a minute or so. "Harry, I'm sorry," she said then, pulling back. "I've got to go; I'm going to be late."

"Yeah," he agreed, and rested himself back against the pillows while Hermione crawled off of him and went back to the mirror to fix herself. "I'm just restless. I feel like I'm stuck here, in this house."

"You don't like it here?" Hermione looked suddenly devastated. "You want to move already? Harry- I've just gotten this _job_ and I-"

"No, no-" Harry corrected her. "I just wish I could _do_ something. Get a job- work... I'd give _anything_ to play a ruddy game of Quidditch."

"I know, Harry... but I can't let you. Trying to get a job was how you got in this mess in the first place, and I _won't_ let it happen again. I won't," she said, and sighed, fixing her hair finally into a haphazard bun. "As for Quidditch, it's a bit difficult to play without a broomstick and with no teammates... and in a muggle village at that!" She laughed.

"Hermione," Harry said, but didn't sound at all cheerful. She frowned. "Hermione, what's that?"

"What's... what's what, Harry?"

In a minute, he was up and out of bed, standing behind her and caressing the exposed part of her neck with the pad of his thumb. Hermione tensed.

"There's a number tattooed on the back of your neck!"

"What?" Hermione said, sounding as if she had had no idea that the number existed. It was an impulse, and she kicked herself for it afterward. "I mean, what number is it?" Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Three twenty nine... what is it?"

"Oh, that's March twenty ninth- that's my birthday. Come to think of it, I remember that tattoo- I had Lavender do it with a spell second or third year. Stupid kid I was," she said airily and looked at her watch. "Oh, I'm going to be late!" Hermione made as if to leave, but Harry caught her wrist.

"I thought your birthday was in September," he said accusingly, and Hermione felt slightly panicked, as her birthday _was_ in September.

"Are you calling me a liar, Harry?" she asked, laughing slightly. "Honestly! Why would I lie about my _birthday_?" Harry stared. "Oh, come _on_ Harry! What else would it be?"

"The girls at the establishment had numbers assigned... tattooed on the backs of their necks," Harry said, monotonous and chary. Hermione looked suddenly distressed and near tears.

"Harry, you know I hate it when you say things like that. It... it _scares _me. That didn't _happen_ Harry, you've got to believe me! All this- all these connections you're making- they're just things your mind made up when you had that attack! I promise you this is nothing!"

Reluctantly, Harry let go of her wrist. Hermione held it to her, although it hadn't been damaged in the slightest.

"I have to go to work," she said, and disappeared out the door. Harry stared after her for a few moments before returning to the horrible pastime that was bed rest.

-x-x-x-

"All right, everyone- today's the day. Everybody ready?" Justin bellowed, banging on his chest and stomping through corridors to wake the sleeping. Draco rolled out of his bed and mechanically walked down the hall, opening the door to a nursery that was vacant of child. He panicked for a moment, before remembering that Apria was safe in the care of her muggle grandparents (Neville's grandmother having died a few years past).

He then showered and dressed in the bathroom down the hall before moving with the slow crowd to the kitchen where, despite the fact that she had been granted reprieve of cooking by her husband, Janelle Longbottom was serving hotcakes and eggs as if it were her calling. Neville sat near the end of the table, between Morag McDougal and Blaise Zabini. He was toying with a breakfast bun, but did not show any real intent to eat it.

"Blaise, shove off," Draco said as he approached the table and Blaise rolled his eyes, but obliged to move to the next empty seat, eggs and all. Having freed himself a spot, Draco sat down beside Neville and stole his bun, taking a hearty bite. "Ya'll right, mate?" he said, quite unsophisticated and rudely, with mouth showcasing his recently pilfered and ground bun.

"No, Draco- I'm not all right," Neville said, seeming both calm and very morose. Draco paused his chewing immediately and swallowed- if on the day of the greatest battle in all the world _Neville Longbottom_ were not completely paranoid and jumpy, something was most definitely wrong. "I don't want her to fight, Draco. I'd give my life if she'd give in- I couldn't _ever _live with myself if something happened to her." Draco put down his bun.

"Nev... nothing's going to happen. Nell's a strong girl, she'll be fine-"

"That doesn't change the fact that she's a muggle, Draco. She's in so _much danger_, just being there! Who _knows _what sort of affect a petrificous totalus could have on a muggle! It's not like anyone's really tried it! And what about the magic? That gun... that gun won't do _anything_, and she's convinced it will. She's never fired a gun before! What if it backfires, or doesn't fire right or something?" He sighed, dropping his head onto his plate. "Why is she doing this to me?"

"Look, Neville-" Draco started, but was thankfully interrupted, as he had no idea what he was going to say. Janelle came around behind them and dished sausages onto their plates, after first moving Neville's head quite forcefully by the hair. She smiled brightly at Draco, but blatantly ignored her husband and continued down the line of starving fighters. "Well, Nev, right now, my advice would be to patch up before we get going. You'd hate yourself if something happened, wouldn't you? Well, you'd hate yourself more if you parted fighting." Neville seemed to have absorbed his point, so Draco dug quickly into his sausages and shoveled pancakes from the platter in the center of the table. He ate heartily, as he needed his strength, but quickly, as he needed to talk to Justin and fill himself in on the battle plans.

-x-

"Stand by!" Justin yelled as he rode his broom past the line of fighters, hiding in the forbidden forest surrounding the castle. Draco kept his eyes on the target, but his ears were focused elsewhere.

"Janelle!" Neville called in a relieved stage-whisper. "Oh, God, I thought I wouldn't find you- I thought..."

"You thought what, Neville?"

Draco shifted slightly- Janelle was positioned behind him (as she could not fly a broom of her own) and was holding very tight to his waist. He had promised her that he wouldn't alert Neville to her presence on his broomstick, and it was obvious she'd thought him traitor. In truth, Draco wished he _had_ sold her out- at least then the sharp pains would be for cause. Neville pulled up alongside them.

"Never mind," he said softly, looking toward the ground. There was a pause, and then Justin made his way back down the lines.

"Any minute now. At the ready," he coached, a true military general and mastermind. He had disguised five select members of their group (Draco and Neville excluded for obvious reasons) as chauvinistic men searching for a spot in the establishment. They were to enter under the guise of 'having a look around'- a trick as old as the establishment itself, but still in good working order- and find Maruiz' quarters. Four were to seal the room, kill the body guards, and keep Mauriz at bay while the other waited for a signal, to in turn signal the troops. The group had entered the establishment successfully over thirty minutes ago, and had yet to return or signal. It was obvious that Justin was getting a bit worried.

For all Justin knew, it could be hours- probably not days, but it was possible. Neville, however, had taken Justin's words to literally mean a few minutes. His head snapped so quickly that Draco turned slightly in alarm. Janelle, evidently, did the same.

"Baby, please don't be mad at me," he said, moving his broom a few inches closer to Draco's. "I'm sorry I made you feel... that way," he said, eyeing Draco slightly. Though he was a close family friend, Neville did not fancy sharing the intimate details of his relationship with him. "But, Nell, this is going to be dangerous. I still don't want you here, but I understand that you need to be here- for you. I'm not going to try to get you to turn back anymore, I don't really want to. I don't want to fight anymore- not now, not when we're literally facing _this._ Please, Nell. I love you." Janelle turned her face into Draco's back and eased her tight grip on his abdomen. She paused a moment, then nodded.

"You're right, Nev. Come here," she instructed and he did. They kissed, quite passionately, and Janelle adjusted her gun before climbing onto Neville's broom and squeezing him from behind. "I love you too. Sometimes I don't know why, you big lug."

"Yeah," he said, holding one of the hands that were pressed to his stomach. "I don't either."

"Are you two love-birds finished? We're trying to have a war here!" Justin said, generating a laugh from the surrounding soldiers, Draco included.

"Fletchley! Flag!" called a nameless recruit from down the line, and Justin turned his eyes to the castle, where Seamus Finnegan was frantically waving a Hogwarts flag.

"Dammit, Longbottom...s!" he cursed, and then pointed ahead. "Attack!"

-x-

The battle was long and trying. Mauriz was taken down almost instantly, a joke of a substitute for Voldemort. He surrendered with ease, losing all dignity he may have had, and gave up all passwords to suites and counter-spells to wards. The establishment husbands, however, were not so easily conquered. Upon realizing that their lifestyles were in danger of extinction and their bodies in danger of incarceration, they dressed and readied themselves to fight. By the one-hour mark, there was a full battle raging between the two sides; hundreds of men against the mixed army of Hogwarts alumni.

Some of the insiders had tried to convince the women to fight, but they were too scared and feeble to do so. Most of them were skin and bones, and had very little experience in such situations- not to mention none of them possessed any wands. The women who _did_ decide to join the effort were the untouchables; the cooks, the laundry ladies, the gofers, the pages, and the medics. They abandoned their posts (save one or two medics, who were in the middle of birthing about six babies in the Maternity Campanile (aka Murder Central) and simply could not leave the mothers to their own) and joined the Hogwarts front with borrowed wands, or broomsticks, or scalpels, or whatever they could find. Justin was quite impressed with their vigor, and chalked it up to pent up frustration- it isn't everyday that one sees a broad-hipped old woman attack a grown man and crack his occipital bone with a butter knife.

Draco fought alongside Justin, and noticed just as quickly as the General that their troops were slowly receding.

"Justin..." he said, aiming and shooting select curses at select men, imagining in his head that each target had at one time or another picked Hermione as a concubine.

"I know," Justin answered, though Draco had neglected to finish his question. "We've got to do something." He paused. "I have an idea. You take the back six, and sneak around the other side. Charge through the middle, and split them into two separate parts."

"That'll work?" Draco asked, though he himself did not have a better plan. Justin gave a shrug.

"I saw it in a movie once."

"Well," Draco said. "If Chaplin's the best defense we've got, I don't see any harm in trying."

"That's the spirit. Go!"

Draco did as he was told, taking the six rows of soldiers toward the back of the army and retreating back into the forest. He scanned their faces as reminders of exactly whom was on his side, and couldn't help but be worried that neither Janelle or Neville was among those in his sub-division.

He pushed the worst-case-scenarios out of his mind and led the troops through the forest, keeping as close to the outer edge as possible without alerting enemy fighters to their location. They followed the forest until it took them behind the castle, at which point they filed out and trudged through the mud surrounding the edifice, past spots of nostalgia most would rather not have seen; the greenhouses, Hagrid's hut, the lake-

"Charge! Through the middle!" Draco called, and his forces pushed their way through the men, beating a path with wand-fire. True, it was somewhat unsportsmanlike, as many of the curses were shot from behind, but all is fair in war. "You! Stand your ground!" Draco instructed, and a handful of soldiers remained at the back of enemy lines, successfully dividing the Establishment army like a fertilized cell that just wants to be twins.

Justin's cinema-gold plan was ultimately a success. The fight went on until the last man surrendered and, although the Hogwarts alliance had lost its fair share of soldiers, the Establishment was crushed. The minister was alerted, and the POWs were sent straight to Azkaban, Mauriz along with them. His kiss was scheduled for the following afternoon, with no trial warranted.

After the fighting, it was up to those who remained to clean up. Justin's half of the army sorted through the women, getting names and addresses before sending a handful or so at a time with a military escort to St. Mungo's for check-ups. Draco's half of the army, however, had taken the more devastating of jobs. The sheer inhumanity of the scene inside Hogwarts (oh, how wonderful it was to finally call it _Hogwarts_ again) where hundreds of women huddled together, wearing warm clothing that had been transfigured from the furniture in the husbands' suites, eating thousands of pieces of fried chicken as if their lives depended on it, was certainly heartbreaking (the food had been donated by Dobby's Place, a café created by Dobby and the other house elves, who had heard the going-ons from the kitchens and gotten out of Hogwarts before Mauriz could find them). The scene outside, however, was just as, if not more, distressful.

Bodies of men littered the entire front campus of the school; piles indistinguishable as offence or defense. The Hogwarts Alliance had lost a good number of men and women, but the body count of the husbands was unimaginable. They may have been enemies, but they were still men, and it was Draco's job to lead in the search for the recoverably injured, and count the number dead.

His troops immediately set to work, deciding to start from one side of the field and work toward the other. Draco, who was not feeling his best and did not fancy the company of others, decided it in his best interest to walk along the shore of the bloody sea and think about the carnage. He had made it nearly half way without registering the identification of a single fallen soldier. Then, he stopped in his tracks.

"Shit," he cursed to himself, and started walking again with quicker steps. "Janelle." He came to his knees at her side, and placed a hand on her back. "Janelle?"

"He's gone," she said softly, balling clumps of Neville's white uniform in her hands as she lay on top of him, shielding him from further damage. "He's dead, Draco, he's dead. I was yelling at him- because... I don't even remember. I just remember being angry, and yelling and then... and then..."

"It's okay, Nell. Come on," Draco said softly, and helped her up. Janelle was slightly resistant, and acted as if she wanted to hold on to her fallen lover until she herself perished with him. "Nell," Draco whispered, and she turned to him, holding him tightly and crying into his uniform. Draco held her, and looked down to where Neville lay fallen, a small circular hole burned into his abdomen, and the life gone from his open eyes.

"He was so worried for me," she said. "So worried. And all I wanted was to come- to be included. Maybe if I'd just stayed home... he wouldn't have been distracted. I wouldn't have yelled- he would have seen the curse coming-"

"Shh, Nell," he said, holding her bloody blonde curls to him. "There was nothing you could do to stop it. He was protecting you, I know he was. He loved you. He wouldn't want you to be like this..." Draco found that he too was getting choked up, from a combination of the loss and simply watching Janelle cry. "He'd want you to press on, and go home, and take care of Appy. And make sure that she knows how much her daddy loved her, huh?" Janelle nodded, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. "If it helps at all," Draco said, kissing the top of her head. "He didn't feel any pain. None at all- curses that kill are ironically tolerable."

"How do you know that? Are you the voice of experience?" she wanted to sound angry, but failed miserably. Draco was very understanding.

"You'll just have to believe me, Nell."

Draco stayed with Janelle, allowing her to vent her pain and frustrations into his dirty, white cotton vest, until the scavenging team happened upon them. They stood back for a moment in respect, bowing their heads at the loss of an influential comrade, and feeling condolence for his young daughter and widowed wife. Draco whispered to Janelle, telling her that it was time for Neville to go inside where it was warm, and she nodded her agreement. The team approached, and two of the men carried Neville into the third of three tents which had been pitched- the first for the banged up, the second for the seriously wounded, and the third for the casualties. The rest of the men and women found their own corpses to relocate, as they were in no short supply.

Teige came running to the scene within minutes, having been alerted by another soldier, and took her sister from the caring arms of Draco Malfoy. Draco couldn't help but be angry at first, though he showed no outward signs. Who was Teige Ackerly to console her sister on the loss of Neville Longbottom, whom she herself despised? It was only when Draco saw the tears rolling down her cheeks that he trusted Teige to be the one to stay with Janelle.

"Come on," he said, and helped them both to their feet. "She needs... something. Why don't you take her with the next batch to Mungo's? We'll manage without you- she needs you more, at this point." Teige looked to Draco with admiration, and nodded softly through her tears before turning in the direction of the port-keying station and dragging her rag-doll of a sister beside her. Draco sighed and wiped at his eyes before helping to remove the rest of the bodies.

-x-x-x-

Harry was asleep when Hermione got home from her triple shift. It was late, nearly midnight (as she had been volunteered to work until closing, and then count all the proceeds for the day before locking up), and she dressed down before climbing into bed behind him and throwing an arm around his waist. Harry was, evidently, not as asleep as she had believed, because he picked up her hand and squeezed it.

"Ow, Harry-" she said, sitting up and wrenching her hand away out of impulse. "My ring... pinched." Harry rolled onto his back and looked up at her with a frown.

"Sorry," he said, but she shook her head and settled down beside him. "Can I see?"

"See what?" Hermione asked, stifling a yawn with his chest. Harry smiled and kissed her hair.

"Your ring. What's it for?"

Hermione showed him, and smiled sadly.

"It's my wedding ring- from you," she said, and Harry's countenance mirrored her own.

"Oh," he said flatly, and inspected the little piece of gold. "Why don't I have one?" He asked, but continued before Hermione could answer. "And what's the 'D' mean?"

"Well," she started, seeming to be searching for words. "We didn't want to spend a lot of money on it... we thought it was more important to save up, for a real house, and a family. We bought this one at a pawn shop. You said you didn't need one, because you'd have me." Hermione smiled at the fabricated memory and kissed his chest. "I don't know what the 'D' stands for."

"Hm," Harry said, tying his arms around her. Hermione sighed in contentment.

"Blow out the candle, won't you, love?"

And Harry did, and the room was flushed with darkness.

-

A/N: Sorry, poppets! I do love this chapter. Oh, and I know Neville's death was a tragedy— Merlin, I love him so much! I'm wearing black for the next week, in mourning. I hope, other than that horrible death thing, you all enjoyed this chapter. And I'm sorry that it isn't SEX, Beach. I'm trying, you know!

This chapter is dedicated to Alicia, who is evidently a fan and told me so over a dead rotting cat! Cheers, love! And sorry your chapters all mangled and death-ridden. At least there was fried chicken- that's an up, in'nt it?


	17. Aftermath and Foreshadowing

Erstwhile on TUB:

Teige came running to the scene within minutes, having been alerted by another soldier, and took her sister from the caring arms of Draco Malfoy. Draco couldn't help but be angry at first, though he showed no outward signs. Who was Teige Ackerly to console her sister on the loss of Neville Longbottom, whom she herself despised? It was only when Draco saw the tears rolling down her cheeks that he trusted Teige to be the one to stay with Janelle.

"It's my wedding ring- from you."

"Oh," he said flatly, and inspected the little piece of gold. "Why don't I have one?"

We didn't want to spend a lot of money on it... we thought it was more important to save up, for a real house, and a family. We bought this one at a pawn shop. You said you didn't need one, because you'd have me." Hermione sighed in contentment. "Blow out the candle, won't you, love?"

And Harry did, and the room was flushed with darkness.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Aftermath and Foreshadowing

"Dear Moses, I can't _take_ this anymore," Harry exclaimed, sitting up in bed and grabbing fistfuls of hair in his hands. He took his glasses from the bedside table and affixed them to his face before untangling his legs from the covers. He stood up and surveyed his chamber of hell, the sheets of which showed ample evidence that he had had trouble sleeping. Harry sighed. "What do you bloody expect? It's not part of the human life cycle to sleep for thirty six hours at a time."

He dressed quickly in the closest thing he could find, which was actually some of his clothes that Hermione had worn on her day off and left in a pile on the floor. He wasn't used to wearing much except various forms of night clothes.

"I'm just going to go for a walk. What can possibly happen to me in my own bloody backyard? I don't even know what it _looks_ like," he said, slipping on shoes and grabbing his coat from the hook. He paused. "I've gone mental," Harry acknowledged. "I'm bloody talking to myself."

Ignoring this realization, Harry left the cottage with flourish, making sure the door was unlocked so that he could again enter the house. He squinted against the sun, which was incredibly bright compared to the shadows of his bedroom, and paused only to adjust his eyesight before embarking on the journey to his unexplored property. A queer sound distracted him from his goal, however, and Harry turned sharply in surprise. A little orange owl was sitting on the mailbox next to the dirt road, looking at him intently and cooing as if to say "Well? What are you waiting for?".

"Well... this is odd," Harry said to himself as he cautiously approached the bird. Hermione had told him that there was a muggle village down the road, and Harry hadn't seen an owl post in a muggle village since he had been eleven years old. "Hello, there."

As Harry grew closer, the bird hopped along the mailbox to meet him at its end. Harry and his visitor stared at one another for an extended moment before the owl slowly held out its burden. Harry looked toward the cargo and lifted his eyebrows.

"The Daily Prophet?" he asked in surprise. "You've got to be kidding!" Harry untied the rolled newspaper from the foot of the bird and pet it gently on the head. "Thanks, mate." It cooed once and took to the sky, leaving Harry alone again. He sighed and unrolled the tabloid, feasting his eyes on the headlines. **Hogwarts Heroes Defeat Murderous Morzmen** the paper shouted proudly, just above a picture of Draco, Ron, and Justin bringing chicken to a group of withered teenagers.

Harry began to hyperventilate.

xxx

Draco stayed on the field for about fifteen hours. At that point, he hadn't slept in almost two days, and it was beginning to show in his work.

"Take him to tent two," he told his team. "Ready? On three-"

"Tent two?" asked Morag MacDougal as she wiped some sweat from her brow. "He's gone, Draco- looks like he has been for a while now. They won't be able to do anything for him." Draco blinked and focused his eyes on the face of the man on the stretcher, a burly Asian whose name he didn't know. One of _them_, one of the enemies.

"Yeah," he said. "Tent three it is."

By tent three, Draco had meant tent six. At some point in the middle of the night, the first three tents had been filled to capacity with the injured and deceased, and a row behind them had been erected to hold the surplus. When the team carrying the Asian man made it to the door of tent six, they were pointed toward a third row of tents, which had been put up sometime after they had last delivered a patient to the medics. Draco felt his sinuses beginning to fill with fluid, making the patch of skin between his eyes and nose begin to burn. "All right," he said, voice cracking slightly. "Tent _nine_ it is."

The team set the man down on the ground inside the tent and exited immediately, leaving Draco to search out a place for the Asian. When he found an empty spot, he levitated the corpse onto the third level of the bunk-like structures that had been constructed there. He exhaled and watched his breath swirl around him in the chilly, freezer-like atmosphere of the building his mind referred to as a "human filing cabinet".

When Draco exited the tent, he did not expect to see Morag standing in the almost-dawn, rubbing her arms and waiting for him. She looked up when she heard him leave the freezer and Draco stopped short in his surprise.

"What are you doing? I _know_ there are more bodies, we have to-" he started, but Morag took a step forward and wrapped her thin, freckled arms around his neck. He was taken off guard, but she was warm and he returned her embrace to take advantage of it.

As they stood there, locked in arms, Draco considered reasons that Morag may have shown such affection so suddenly. His first thought was that their work had simply gotten to her, and that she needed something like this to keep her going. He held her a bit tighter at the possibility, but soon realized that it did not seem entirely logical- Morag was probably a better man than he was. It was this thought (although somewhat of a joke in his head) that allowed her true intentions to strike him. _He_ needed this to keep him going.

Morag kissed his cheek and pulled back.

"You've been so wonderful through all of this, Draco, but you're not doing yourself any favors. You have to take a break, get some sleep soon or you're going to just quit on us," she said, and smiled sadly. "We already have enough people in tent one. We don't need you in there with a concussion as well."

"You're sweet," he said, smiling at her and gently removing her hands from where they rested near his shoulders. "But I'm fine- you don't have to worry about me."

"I'm not the only one that thinks so, Draco," she said, stepping in front of him as he made to walk away. He looked surprised.

"No one else has said anything."

"They know what a stubborn prick you are," Morag teased, crossing her arms. Draco stared. "I'm not letting you go until you promise you'll go in the castle and get some sleep. We'll still be here in a few hours, you know. You won't miss much." Draco seemed to be considering her offer.

"I'll make you a deal," he said and she looked incredibly surprised that he was folding so easily. Draco thought he may have been doing it to disprove her theory of his stubborn prickiness. "I'll do as you say... but you have to _promise_ you'll come and get me if something happens or you find someone and you _know_ I'd want to know about it." She considered him.

"And you'll go willingly?" He gave a nod. "Deal." They shook hands and Draco kissed her cheek before starting toward the castle. Morag watched him until he disappeared through the main doors, then sighed and followed after her team.

Despite his promise, Draco did not go to sleep immediately. It took him almost an hour to find a room with a fireplace that hadn't been blocked. Evidently, someone had triggered the alarm by flooing out when news of the attack had reached them. After an extensive and tiring search, he cursed his own stupidity and made his way to Maruiz' quarters. As expected, the grand fireplace that had once belonged to Albus Dumbledore was completely unblocked and crackling merrily, as if the carnage outside were merely rumor. He helped himself to the large sack of floo powder beside the hearth and made a quick call to St. Mungo's to check in with Teige and Janelle. The receptionist told him to hold, but he distinctively heard her page the morgue while he waited. Teige answered the call, looking puffy-eyed and shaky. She told him that Janelle was, by all physical means, perfectly fine, but refused to leave Neville. They had given her an hour, and after being evacuated from his room, she had followed the doctors to the morgue and was currently sitting outside the door, being consoled by her parents. This bit of information startled Draco and he asked immediately about Apria. Teige assured him that they hadn't allowed her to see Neville, and that she was currently being entertained by the playroom of the children's ward.

When he had finished being updated on the condition of his only true muggle friend, Draco sat in the firelight, connection closed, and started thinking. Neville was dead. He could hardly believe it; he had spoken with him no more than two days ago. Despite all attempts to remain unbelieving, Draco knew it to not be some sort of nightmare. He had seen the ghost-white face of his comrade, glistening slightly with tears from a golden-haired widow. He remembered, now, a conversation he had had with Neville when plans for the attack were starting to evolve. When Apria had been born, Draco was entrusted with the title of godfather. Neville had wanted to make absolutely sure that they had made the right choice in doing so, and had forced Draco to swear by the very blood in his veins that if anything _were_ to happen to Neville, he would take care of both the baby and Janelle.

Draco felt a surge in his chest as he sat in the firelight and he knew that, if he were a better man, he would have cried.

Despite the heavy weight in his stomach, Draco did not go to sleep. Neither did he apparate to St. Mungo's and hold his new family to him as he wanted so desperately to do. He settled himself, instead, in the light of Dumbledore's fire and connected himself to Emory Swardstine's Parlor of Funereal Services, Ottery St. Catchpole, England.

He didn't know the exact numbers, but the sympathetic receptionist had been incredibly patient with him. He figured an approximation of deceased, including all Morzmen, Hogwarts Alliance members, and the brave women who had fought at their sides with cutlery and fireplace fanners filled with washing powder. The receptionist herself had used his estimate to make one of her own; exactly how long it would take to prepare all those dead for burial. For some reason, it surprised Draco that two thousand dead would take nearly three months to set at rest.

"Unfortunately," the receptionist said, catching his attention. "It will be too cold for a burial then. You'll have to wait until spring."

"That's fine," Draco said, nodding softly. "We'll need time to identify them and inform immediate family."

"Would you like me to send a few people to you? To start removal?"

"Yeah," he said solemnly. "Have them ask for tent three. And tell anyone that Draco Malfoy sent them." She nodded softly.

"I am very sorry for your incredibly loss, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Me too."

Draco closed the connection and made a blazing path to the quarters he had known as a secret agent. He kicked off his shoes, peeled some of the excess layers from his uniform, and fell into the plush arms of the mattress. As he tried to welcome sleep, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. He thought about Appy, and her little chubby Longbottom face. He thought about Janelle and the fact that he had never seen her so discomposed. The faces of a hundred dead strangers flashed in his mind. Sounds from the battle bit at him, calls from Fletchley muffled by screams of terror and pain.

He thought about Harry, and wondered if he would ever see him again.

And, just before drifting into sleep, he thought about Hermione and how the sheets still smelt like her.

XXX

"Harry!" Hermione called in excitement as she entered their home. "Harry, you'll never guess what wonderful news I have!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Harry said bitingly, appearing in the doorway to the bedroom, freshly clothed and showered. Hermione was struck by this fact alone.

"Harry," she said, searching his appearance and attempting to ignore the feeling of uneasiness his piercing stare was giving her. "What are you doing up? And dressed? And... what on earth do you need _shoes_ for?"

"I'm leaving," he said, as if it were as commonplace for him as anyone else.

"Harry..." Hermione repeated, lifting a shaky hand to run through her hair. "I... I don't understand."

"Well, you see," Harry started, almost before she was finished. "I read this brilliant article today, and it got me thinking... about us. It seems we're not as happily married as we think we are." He disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a suitcase in his left hand and rolled up tabloid in his right. "Would you like to see? It's on the front page. Very persuasive." Hermione fought tears as she stared up at him. "Go on, take it." He urged her. She did, with shaking fingers, and unrolled the crinkled bit of parchment. The headline was like a stab in the heart.

"Harry," she whispered. "Harry let me explain..."

"What can there _possibly _be to _explain_, Hermione? You lied to me. You told me Ron was dead—my very best friend in the entire world. You told me he was dead and that I couldn't even remember how he died! You told me Mauriz didn't exist! And the establishments! You made me think I was _crazy_. And maybe I am, because I just don't understand _why_. Why, Hermione? Why would you _do_ that?"

"I just... I just wanted..."

"What? I know a lot happened to you- a lot happened to me too. Maybe I _was_ crazy for a while. I _loved_ you. All those years, I loved you. And for what? For this? What could you have possibly thought to gain from this, Hermione? Did you really think this would win you a happily ever after?"

"I don't know... I wasn't thinking. I wanted to get away- from everyone... and be with you."

"Don't you _miss_ them? God, sometimes I don't want to get out of _bed_ because it hurts so much," he laughed dryly. "Lucky for me you kept me there."

"God, Harry, I'm so sorry- I don't even know what to say."

"That's fine, Hermione, because there's nothing you _can_ say. Even yesterday I _loved_ you with all of my being. I was so grateful that you'd stayed with me through this episode I was going through. I knew that as confusing as it was for me to be told something exactly the opposite of what I remember, it must have been a thousand times as difficult for you, knowing that I _didn't remember anything_. And then this morning, I got the paper and... God, I don't even remember what it was I _saw_ in you!" He was yelling, and Hermione cowered over her rapidly crumpling newspaper. Harry sighed and shook his head, taking a step away from her to be less intimidating. "This is finished, Hermione. I hope you realize what you've done. I'm going to go _home_, to the farmhouse. I'm going to hug Ron, and I'm going to tell him _exactly_ where I've been. Then I'm going to tell Draco, and everyone else." He paused, picking up his bag. "I sincerely hope that, if you know what's good for you, you won't follow me."

And in an instant, he was gone.

x x x

Harry entered the farmhouse from the main doors and dropped his suitcase in the grate room with a resounding 'plop'.

"Hello!" he called, walking toward the kitchen. "Anyone? It's Harry!" It was unusual to see such an absence of people in the farmhouse. On an average day, there were half a dozen people running about and doing things- in the kitchen, outside, in the drawing room. Planning and cooking and farming.

Today, it was deserted. Harry wracked his brain for a reason for such a phenomenon as he passed through doorways. In the kitchen, he noted an array of dirty dishes littering the table, looking to have been sitting there for well over twenty-four hours. Some were rotting where bits of food had been left and others were covered with flies. He did a quick spell to clean up the place, a feeling of unease settling into his stomach.

"Thanks, mate," said a sleepy voice from the next room, punctuated by a yawn. "I've been meaning to do that, but I was just so tired that I-" Justin appeared in the kitchen in his night-things, smiling and talking animatedly until his drooping eyes landed on Harry's face. "Potter," he spat and it hurt. Justin had been one of his good friends for many years, and he had never used his surname- much less used it so spitefully. "Fancy meeting you after all the work's been done. Off on honeymoon, have you? I suggest you and your dime-store, heart-breaking bint leave the premises before Draco gets back or both your necks will be wrung. If not by him, then by me."

"What do you mean, Draco? What's Draco got to do with anything?"

"Ha, so she didn't tell you. Like her, really. Slept with him, didn't you know? Seduced him. Made him fall in love with her... and then she runs off with _you_ a day after he risks his very life to save whatever's left of hers. Makes me sick to think about it," Justin shared and visibly shuttered.

"I left her," Harry said, trying to hold in the emotion he felt at this newfound knowledge. Justin looked somewhat surprised.

"Good on you. That doesn't give you any right to show your face here, after all you've done. Or all you _haven't _done, as the case may be- especially right now."

Harry stopped him from continuing, despite how much of a burden the ranting seemed to ease. He explained to Justin the actual terms of his dismissal of Hermione and nearly broke down in tears at the thought. Justin's attitude toward Harry changed almost as quickly as Harry's had for Hermione the previous morning.

"It's all right, mate. You'll be all right," he said, patting Harry on the back and frowning as the raven-haired boy rubbed his emerald eyes.

"I still can't believe she did it, you know? She told me... so many lies. I really _did_ love her."

"I know you did."

"Did she really sleep with Draco? Is he in love with her?" Harry asked earnestly, and Justin looked away in shame of his tattling.

"Look, don't be angry with Malfoy, all right? He's been through nearly as much as you have. You have no idea what he was like when you disappeared- how depressed he was. If it weren't for this war to keep his mind off of it, I don't know what would have happened to him."

"Oh, God, the war- I can't believe I missed it. I can't believe I wasn't _there_... to _help_ you," Harry lamented, covering his face with his hands. Justin laughed.

"You may be Harry Potter, oh wonderous boy-who-lived... but we managed without you. We won the whole thing pretty quickly... but we lost _so many_."

"Who?" he demanded, looking up in alarm. "Ron?"

"No, no... Ron's fine. We lost a lot of the rookies we never really knew in Hogwarts- the ones with no real battle training. And, tragically, Neville Longbottom."

"God, no. Doesn't he have a son? A little one? And what about Janelle- she must be shattered!"

"A daughter, actually, but you're right- they're both pretty broken up. Last I knew, Draco had made arrangements for body removal and had gone off to see them at St. Mungo's. They won't let Janelle in to see Neville anymore- she's devastated."

"Where is everyone else?"

"They're still at the scene- cleaning up. It's taken almost three days to make it through all the dead and dying, and to get all the girls to physicians for proper check ups. I've just gotten back here about an hour ago. I just couldn't sleep properly in the establishment. It's nothing like Hogwarts used to be. I had to get out."

"Can I go? Will they let me help them?" Harry asked and Justin chuckled a little, squeezing his shoulder.

"They need all the help they can get."

x x x

"Janelle?" Draco called as he rushed out of the elevator and into pediatrics. A small, crumpled girl with long blonde hair looked up from her hawk-eye watch on her daughter and smiled sadly. Draco's first thought was that she looked horrible. Her hair was dry and frizzy-looking, gathered into a lopsided bun at the top of her head that could be considered half pony-tail. Her entire frame, dressed in day-old clothing, was contained in one of the cramped plastic hospital chairs, making her look very much like the nut in a walnut shell.

"Draco," she said, her voice husky and filled with something akin to relief. It seemed she was generally happy to see him. He hurried toward her and she unfolded herself from the chair, allowing him to meet her standing and embrace her in his thick white arms.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he said, sounding greatly eased as if a physical burden had been lifted from him. She smiled against his sweater and her lip began to quiver.

"Draco," she whispered, barely audible. "Draco, Neville's dead... he died, right in front of me."

"I know, love. I'm so- so sorry," he whispered to her, holding her tighter against him, and she lifted her sleeves to her eyes and wiped away the offending tears that leaked there.

"I'm sorry," Janelle said, trying to apologize for her behavior, but Draco sat her down on a sofa in the corner that was built for two and much softer than her shell had been. He told her that she wouldn't feel better until she had cried, and let everything out. Janelle didn't need to be told twice, and fell into wracking sobs in his arms.

"It just hurts," she said. "It hurts so much. I feel... broken. I can't remember how to be happy. I don't know what I'm going to do, Draco."

"It'll be all right," he told her. "I promise you. I promised Neville, and I plan to keep it. I'll take care of you."

"Draco," Janelle said, kissing him softly on the corner of the mouth. "You're my best friend."

It was a simple declaration, and nothing the pair of them didn't already know, but it struck something in Draco that nearly forced him to accept his own advice and take advantage of the thin, pale-skinned shoulder that was clothed in wrinkles and entirely at his disposal. He held himself back and missed his opportunity, but was not regretful that he had done so. Janelle rested her face on his shoulder, eyes watching the pediatric play-area where Apria was playing happily with three leukemia patents two years her senior and a little black boy who was about her age, and looked to have been badly burned in the recent past. Apria seemed to see nothing wrong with her three playmates and shared with them as she would any healthy child.

"She looks just like him, doesn't she?" Janelle said, sniffling and bunching bits of his sweater in her hands. "She looks just like him."

"She does," Draco said, although he knew very well that Apria looked entirely like her mother, down to the bone thin extremities which garnished her petite torso. The only features she seemed to have gotten from her father was her button-like nose and dark locks. That, of course, and her ability to see people and not skin and blood and handicaps. "Such an amazing thing for such a small child," Draco said aloud and Janelle nodded, though it was very unlikely that she could possibly know the true meaning of his words.

"Draco," she said, after a moment of silence and he answered with the very same quiet. "What's going to happen?" Her question was indirect, but Draco knew exactly the answer she was hoping he wouldn't give.

"Everything..." he began. "Is going to change."


	18. This is not what you think

This is not a chapter, it's an author's note. I realize that that is against the rules of Fanfiction and I'm sure this will be taken down very shortly, but I hope it reaches enough eyes to be understood.

I can't tell you how many times you people have chided me for my author's notes, and I don't really expect that this one will cause a change in that. I'm sure by now you've realized that I write them only when I'm upset with reviews and I have something to say in my defense. You can't really expect a defense to be chocolate coated and covered in sugar sweets.

So, yes, I know that there are grammatical errors in my short stories. There're more than likely grammatical errors in this author's note. Honestly? Nope, I don't care. People keep reviewing to bitch me out about A/N's I wrote being sore about grammar and people whining about it.

I'm not perfect. I'm not an editor, I'm not an English major—hell, when I wrote most of the stuff on this website I wasn't even a high-schooler. That's the major qualm I have here, actually.

I WROTE THESE THINGS YEARS AGO.

I don't mind people reviewing to say, "Oh yeah I liked this and I wish you'd update again"(even though I don't plan to) or "I actually thought this sucked for legitimate reasons that I will outline as follows."

I just hate it when people review only to tell me that I was immature and out of line when yelling at people in my author's notes. I was like, 12. 12 year olds tend to be kind of immature and out of line a lot of the time. Don't tell them about it seven years later and expect them to have a self-revelation and repent for all their sins.

Since I'm here I might as well take the time to say a few more things,

I really do appreciate you guys still reading my stories and enjoying them even though they're getting really dusty.

I'm not going to update again, no matter how many times I'm asked and how enthusiastically those requests are outlined.

I was there, too, when I thought Fanfiction was the greatest thing in the world and that I would never tire of it—but I did. I remember one of my best friends-through-Fanfiction giving up on her stories when I was in my prime and thinking to myself, how could you do that? How could you do that to yourself, to your fans? To your unfinished work?

I will never do that. I will write Fanfiction until I am dead.

You will find soon in your lives that things you think are true when you're 14 have a tendency to not be exactly as you expected them to be.

I outgrew Fanfiction. There are things in my life that are more important now.

I'm deep and tormented in unrequited love with my best friend.

I have $20,000 in college loans.

I'm designing websites under the guidance of real designers and for real organizations.

I'm going to Otakon.  the best thing to ever happen to me

There's just no room in my life for the 19 hours of Fanfiction I used to write and read everyday. I'm sorry, guys.

But, this is Priah—Signing out.


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